Letterman jacket
by superninjagurl
Summary: "An ambulance is on its way. Please stay on the line, Noah." - Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Romance all tangled up into one when Puck is the first one on the scene after the bullies has taken it too far.
1. Shit

**LETTERMAN JACKET  
Shit**

"_Shit."_

Detention was never fun, but it could be more or less bearable – depending on which teacher was supervising it. If Puck could choose his favorite detention day, it would without doubt be Wednesdays, because then Coach Tanaka was in charge and all he ever did was sitting in his desk and stuffing his face with burritos and Cheetos. It was worse with Mr Schue, because although he was an alright teacher or whatever, he always asked Puck to _do _stuff and that shit just ain't right.

The day it happened was a Wednesday. Coach was too busy with wallowing in self-pity after the Ms Pillsbury-fiasco, he did not even notice when Puck came to his feet and announced loudly that he was going. He was a badass and school could not tie him down. At least not after five pm.

The parking lot was nearly empty. His truck stood in its usual spot – not too far from the dumpsters he had thrown Jewfro into when bullying him into giving his parking space up. He shoved his hand down the pockets of his grey jeans. He nearly did not hear it because of the scrambling of his key chain, the muffled noise he could not quite identify. He stopped dead in his tracks, eying is surrounding suspiciously. Those hockey jerks had been on the warpath lately, threatening constantly with wedgies and all different kinds of crap, but he _knew _they did not dare to take him down. Finn, sure, because he was tall and all, but as dangerous as a baby bunny. Although aware of the fact that he was too rock 'n' roll for those shitheads to even try something, he was still on his edge, listening intently after that noise again. _There it was! _Puck spun around, eyebrows creased in confused curiosity. His car keys still in hand, he took a cautionary step in the direction he thought he heard the weird noise come from. He noticed the bag first. Light brown leather. A messenger bag he had gotten shoved in his guts one too many times. The content had been discarded across the dark asphalt – notebooks, pens, an iPod, broken headphones, something which looked a lot like a make-up kit and a purple scarf. It had been torn in half. Dread settled low in his stomach. Something _was not right. _Even if the hockey team had taken Hummel's bag, it would not have been on the ground like this with no sign of the so called guy. Puck knew that if they had taken the bag, they would have ripped it from his weak lady hands and made him watch them ruin his belongings. They would have taken pleasure in the way he would have tried to look strong, nose in the air, one eyebrow raised, but his bottom lip would tremble just the slightest. That was all it took to make it worth it. Puck knew all this, because he had been there himself. He had noticed the light quiver his lip made, the small wrinkle between his eyebrows when he gleefully scattered all of his possessions across the sidewalk and it broke under the soles of his shoes. He had watched the fairy sink down upon the ground, gathering his stuff with shivering hands and gotten the hell out of there before something even worse was done to him.

Puck had not tormented Hummel for quite some time. He had been a good boy and _really _behaved, even sticking up for him when the other jocks got a bit too eager with their insults. They were teammates and teammates were supposed to stick together, or whatever fruity shit Mr Schue tried to teach them. Of course they bickered like an old, bitter married couple all the time, because being teammates did not mean that they particularly liked each other. They tolerated each others existence... barely.

He could hear the noise more clearly now. It almost sounded like someone sobbing and Puck knew who it was even before he walked around the dumpster and saw him. His petite body was slumped against the large garbage container and his head was lolling to the side, occasionally jerked upwards, as if fighting sleep. He caught a glimpse of his face before getting closer. Hummel is usually pale, but now his skin was _white _and it was pretty fucking scary because he did not quite look human anymore. Two hesitant steps closer and he got a better look at him. His otherwise bright eyes were almost hidden behind heavy eyelids, his lips parted and it sort of looked like he did not possess the strength to keep them shut. His slender fingers held onto his side and Puck did not know why, but he knew that something was off about his outfit. That sounds super gay, but it was true. He had seen him around school all day, wearing a pristine white shirt. Even though it seemed likely that fruitcake over here of all people would change outfit in the middle of the day, for maxed fabulousness or something queer like that, but Puck did not believe that even Hummel would wear something like that. It was still a white shirt, but with a red splatter across his stomach. It sort of resembled... The realization hit him hard and that was when he said it.

"Shit."

That exclaim seemed to be what made Hummel aware of his presence. His eyelids fluttered and hazy eyes were suddenly staring Puck down.

"Puck..."

His voice was nothing like the smooth and crystal clear voice he usually used. This one was heavy and forced. It seemed to strum painfully at his vocal cords.

"... go away... I don't... need your help..."

Every breath was as tiring as running a marathon and climbing Mount Everest in one day. A wheezing sound left his lips when he inhaled enough to get the next words out.

"... I'm fine..."

Just fucking like Hummel. Not even when he was _dying _did he fancy any help. Though, Puck did not think of this. He did not think of pulling his pigtails and tease him to the brink of explosion, like he usually did. No one in their right mind would and Puck may be a jerk, but he was not deranged. Hummel needed help.

"Are you fucking _crazy, _Hummel?"

There was an anger within which he had never experienced before, which was weird, because if someone knew anger, it was Puck. It was flaring, burning intensely deep inside when he promptly dropped his bag to the ground and yanked his shirt off his body. At that time, he did not think of how he had a towel in the bag next to him. All he could think was _stop the blood from flowing. _His knees hit the ground hard, but he could not feel a thing except for the worry which made him want to puke his guts out. He needed to pry Hummel's hand from the blood soaked fabric just to be able to press his own shirt to the open wound. Hummel hissed, pain visible all across his face and it sent a jolt of panic throughout Puck's body. He was doing this right... right? He was going to be fine, right? The cellphone nearly slipped out of his hand when he pulled it out of his jeans pocket. His fingers just barely obeyed him in his rush to press the three necessary digits. Slow, beeping signals went through, but Puck almost did not hear them over his thundering heartbeat. _Pick up pick up pick up. _Something crackled in the other end and then there was just this calm, collected voice and words just gushed out of him, all in a hazy blur as he clutched Hummel tighter to his chest. The fairy whimpered, but hell, he had all reasons to.

_"An ambulance is on its way. Please stay on the line, Noah."_

Instructions went into his ear and out through the other. It was too much. Check his breathing, stop the bleeding, don't let him fall asleep, is he dozing off? All the while this woman kept talking, small murmurs left Hummel's blueish looking lips. Puck only managed to pick up fragments.

"... my new shirt... it's ruined... cashmere..."

He seemed totally out of it, eyelids fluttering dangerously as he quietly complained over the state of his shirt. Puck wanted him to shut up, stop sounding so fucking _normal _and at the same time, not normal _at all. _He kept naming all the fancy pansy drag queens or designers or what the fuck they were under his breath, whispered them out into the crisp spring air like a mantra or some cheesy shit like that. Puck would have felt completely useless, if not for the fact that his hand was pressed against Hummel's side and he swore that he could feel the warm blood pulsate beneath his fingertips.

"The ambulance will be here soon", he managed to mutter and his voice was _so not _a girly, high-pitched and heartbroken whisper filled to the brim with panicking concern. Hummel did not reply, just kept murmuring the same things over and over again.

"... Gucci, Alexander McQueen, Armani, Coco Chanel, Versace..."

Where was that damn ambulance? Could they not hurry? Time was ticking away in the same rate as blood started pooling around them. Puck wanted to scream. Call for some kind of help. He had never felt more alone in his entire life than in this moment, because he knew that he was the last one on the scene. The parking lot was empty, except for his own truck and Hummel's fancy Navigator. He bit down on his lower lip to stifle a sob. His throat burned viciously and he tried his very best to ignore the oncoming, helpless tears, because studs does not cry and he was Puckzilla. Puckzilla did not cry.

"Noah..."

Two great pools of vacant blue and green suddenly bore into his eyes. Hummel's fingertips trembled when they connected with Puck's cheek. They were so cold. It was meant as some kind of reassurance, a calming gesture, but hell to calm and collected when Hummel could not even steady his hand enough to cup someone's cheek!

"... I'm cold..."

Those two words were heartrending. Wasn't that what all the movie heroes said before they died in their lover's arms? Oh fuck, Hummel did not deserve to die in Puck's arms. Where was that lover? He should hurry up and get there soon, before it was too late. Puck forgot all about the woman on his cellphone when Hummel had spoken, all the instructions he had been given. He simply reached out after his bag and wrenched it open. The zipper tore, but he could not care less, because soon enough he did pull out his letterman jacket. It probably smelled like shit; old pizza, sweat, cologne and awesomeness, but it was warm and Hummel was cold.

"Here you go..." he murmured when wrapping it awkwardly around his hunched body. "Feeling better? You're feeling better, right? The ambulance will be here any minute now, 'kay?"

He did not reply. A petite, almost invisible smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and it looked so sad, so out of place that Puck wanted to bawl his eyes out. Then his eyelids simply fluttered shut.

Next thing he knew, it was people everywhere. People in uniforms. Bright blue and red lights, voices echoing in and out of his vacant mind. Someone told him to let go. No. He did not want to. Hummel needed him. He was cold. The lighter boy was forced out of his arms, still enveloped in his smelly letterman jacket and he might have screamed and yelled, he can not remember the exact details. Hands gripped after him, pushed him forward and Hummel was on a bunk next to him and all these people used stuff that made his limp body convulse and then sag. Convulse and sag, convulse and sag, all over again. The same hands held him now, asked politely after his name and Hummel's. How they knew each other. What they were doing in the parking lot. Puck could not speak, his entire attention stuck on all the pale skin and red blood before him. Machines beeped, people shouted directions and he did not belong there. Neither of them did. Just a few hours ago, he had been royally insulted by the then vibrant, ice cold queen of Fairy Town. He was still cold, but for an entire different reason.

Not once did Hummel cry.

* * *

**Author's note: I promise; this is not the end of this fic! I'll update as soon as possible.**

**I just wanted to point out, if I did not get it across; the part where Kurt murmurs designers and labels is not some weird exaggeration of his persona. I figured that when you've gotten stabbed and are trying not to panic, you need to remind yourself of something safe, something _normal _to keep calm. That was what he did. Rambling about familiar things like the state of his shirt or different designers that he likes helped him keep his cool.**

**Don't you forget to review! They're like crack to me. I need them to live (or at least to continue with this story).**


	2. Grown man crying

**Author's note: Thank you for the wonderful reception! I've gotten a bunch of fabulous reviews on chapter 1 and it really means a lot to me. I wrote this as fast as I could without rushing it and I hope it live up to your expectations.**

* * *

**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Grown man crying**

They rushed him away somewhere. Puck was not allowed to come with him. He was left standing in the middle of the waiting area, clutching the blood soaked fabric of his letterman jacket until his knuckles whitened. He was still staring at the door Hummel had disappeared through when someone laid a hand upon his shoulder. Puck flinched. It was a nurse. Big hair, broad lips, slim waist and impressive tits. Nothing of that mattered now. He did not even have the strength to check her out properly. She was smiling politely towards him. Her hand was so warm, so different from how _his _skin had felt beneath his hands.

"Let's sit down, okay?" she suggested softly, but some part of his brain registered that it was more of a demand than an actual question.

He let her motion him towards the plastic seats. Some of them were already occupied. Others, just like him, yet very different. Waiting, praying, crying. They all waited for hearing from a loved one. Hummel was a loved one, only not his loved one. He slumped down into one of the chairs, too exhausted to even think about how uncomfortable it was. The nurse still had a hand upon his shoulder.

"Can I get you something? Tea or coffee, maybe?"

She sounded like she cared, though, he knew she got paid for it. Puck simply shook his head. He was not sure of if he would be able to swallow anything because of the huge, burning lump in his throat. Her eyebrows creased in worry and the mere gesture made him want to snap at her. He was not the one she was supposed to worry about.

"What's your name?" She insisted, sinking down into the seat next to him.

He figured he needed to answer her, though his eyes were still fixed upon those doors.

"Puck."

He received a smile for sharing, he noticed in the corner of his eye. He could not care less.

"Puck, my name is Mary. What's your friend's name?"

They were not friends. Teammates, not friends. He did not bother to correct her.

"Hum-... I mean, Kurt. Kurt Hummel."

"Do you know his family? Is there some way we could get in touch with them?"

Hummel's family. _No, she's dead. This is her son. _The memory was like jab to the guts. He had not paid much attention to it then, they had all stared weirdly at his vacant eyes, but now it all came gushing back. Puck shook his head.

"His dad... I think he owns an auto shop or something... a garage."

Mary nodded in appreciation, patting his shoulder when she came to her feet again.

"Alright, Puck. I'll try to reach him."

Like he cared.

"And Puck?"

He forced his gaze away from the door to her gentle face.

"You did good today."

With those words, she turned on her heel and marched away to the reception. _You did good today. _It did not make any sense to him.

Mary returned half an hour later. She brought a warm blanket and a cup of coffee which he did not want. She tried to take the letterman jacket from his hands and received a horrifying glare in return. After that encounter, she did not come back. Puck was not sure of how long he sat there. It might have been hours, or maybe it was nothing but minutes. His gaze had not wavered from the door, as if expecting Hummel to burst through them singing some fruity musical shit about how they never could bring him down. Oh God, he wished he would do that. A doctor or a nurse would occasionally come through the doors and fool him into getting on his feet, expectantly watching them. They always walked up to someone else. Puck did not even know why he was still there. Hummel did not like him and he did not particularly like Hummel either. He was a stuck-up princess who desperately needed to get that stick out of his ass. Though, being the fruitcake he was, he probably liked the stick exactly where it was. Puck wanted to stab himself for that awful joke and pushed it into the back of his head immediately. He would stay. Did not matter that he probably should get the hell out of there. He would stay.

"Where is he? Where is my son?"

A man's voice reached his ears and snapped him out of his reverie. Someone who he had not noticed entering the room stood by the reception, half-shouting out panicking words. He had his back towards Puck. Mary stood before him and helplessly tried to explain something in a hushed voice. He did not hear a word of what she said, but the gesture she made his way was unmistakable. The man turned around and their eyes locked together. Puck realized immediately that this was Mr Hummel. There was not even an remotely resemblance between father and son – Mr Hummel was largely built and dressed pretty much like a lumberjack. It reminded him of the week Hummel had an identity crisis and tried to pull the same look off. Only difference was that Mr Hummel looked like a man – Hummel Junior had looked like a gender-confused lesbian. Nothing reminded Puck of this man's effeminate son... except for his eyes. They were the same mix of blue and green, confusing at first, because you could never really tell which eye color it actually was. Though, instead of the usual determination and defiance Puck always found while glaring at Hummel, Mr Hummel's were equal parts infuriated and sad. Blowing Mary off, he marched towards Puck. He did not have time to get scared. Mr Hummel came to a halt a few feet away.

"You found my kid?"

His voice was scratchy and hoarse, trembling with worry. Puck nodded wordlessly. Next thing he knew, he was yanked to his feet and crashed so hard against the man's chest that all air was pushed out of him. Strong arms forced him to stay put. Mr Hummel smelled of grease and sweat.

"Thank you", he whispered.

This was the first time Puck saw a grown man cry.

Hours passed. Puck offered Mr Hummel the coffee Nurse Mary had brought, but it was cold and left upon the table next to him. They did not exchange a word after that. Puck returned to his previous activity – staring blatantly at the door separating them from Hummel. Hummel's dad followed his example shortly after. At times, he would sniff and try to stifle a sob. At a point or two, he got to his feet and asked Mary for new information, but returned even more disappointed and concerned than before. He never questioned what Puck was still doing there.

Eleven pm. Puck had not moved. Calling his mom had not occurred to him. Mr Hummel was trembling next to him, constantly adjusting his baseball cap. Puck's hands were shaking. He was tired, hungry, thirsty and in need of a toilet. Still, he did not move. They both went rigid when those blue doors flung open. Judging by the coat she wore, it was a doctor. Puck knew immediately that this time, it was different. This doctor was heading their way. As if on cue, both men came to their feet. The woman smiled weakly. She had dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked just as exhausted as Puck felt.

"Are you Mr Hummel's relatives?"

They did nothing but nod, no time for any explanations. They just wanted what they had been waiting for.

"I'm Doctor Hardwicke."

The appropriate greetings were made, hands were shook, but no one really cared to remember her name.

"He lost a lot of blood. The time span is a bit fuzzy, but we believe that he had been waiting to be found for quite some time."

Puck swallowed hard. He could see it in front of him. So many students, so many teachers walking straight past the dumpsters and not thinking twice about the bag and all the belongings scattered across the asphalt. Mr Schue, Aretha, Finn... Hummel had been _right there._

"The good news is that it was a clean cut and the surgeons managed to stitch him back up again. The scar should be fairly invisible."

Mr Hummel shook his head, eyebrows creased in confusion.

"I don't understand. Will my kid be okay?"

At those words, the doctor only smiled.

"Mr Hummel, your son will make a full recovery."

This time, Mr Hummel almost took Puck to the floor when his legs gave in and his body shook with loud, relieved sobs. This time, the embrace was less uncomfortable and Puck hid his red-rimmed eyes in the flannel covering Mr Hummel's shoulders. He was going to be fine.

* * *

**Author's note: You really thought I could kill Kurt? NEVER! I love him too much for that. **

**This chapter was a bit shorter than the first one, but I wanted a clean cut before moving on to the next step. Hope you don't mind.**

**Reviews are love! :'D**


	3. Comfort

**Author's note: Hm... I'm not sure I like this chapter. I hope you do.**

* * *

**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Comfort**

Next thing he knew, he was pushed through the doors he had been staring at for nearly five hours straight. Doctor Hardwicke walked them through endless hallways. There were door openings on each side of them, some open, some closed. Quiet sobs echoed through the white walls, accompanied by small whispers and hushed words. Puck kept his gaze straight ahead. There were too many blurred faces passing by; sleeping, weeping. The doctor came to a sudden halt outside room 103.

There he was. Tucked down neatly, arms resting along his sides. Eyes closed. His cheeks were beginning to gain color again. He would have a fit if he saw what state his hair was in. Puck did not step inside. Mr Hummel did not hesitate. He was at his son's side in a second, holding his small hand in his tightly. The noise, the rustle and the sudden pressure around his fingers made his eyelids flutter. Puck had never seen him so disoriented before. Not even the first time he hauled him into the dumpster or back when he still wore pants which did not clung to him like leeches and he had been able to empty a cherry slushie down his trousers.

"..."

His lips had parted and tried to utter some sort of sound. His eyebrows creased when nothing came out and he cleared his throat. He tried again.

"Dad..."

His voice was nothing but a whisper, weak and broken. Puck shuffled nervously, his hands shoved down the front pockets of his jeans. He had no business there. He should go home.

"... I'm here, kiddo, right here..."

His truck was still in the school's parking lot along with his duffel bag. Along with the blood covering the concrete behind the dumpster. It might not have been his most macho moment, but the mere thought of it made him slightly nauseous. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone.

"Puck?"

Puck blinked. Hazy eyes bore into his, surprise visible through all the exhaustion and numb pain. They stayed like that for an unknown amount of time, staring into each others eyes (no matter how chick flick that sounded) until Puck needed to pull away, when it got too intense. He needed to get out of there, like, yesterday. So that was what he did. The only thing the old man had ever been good at, the only thing he had ever taught him. He ran. Fled the scene, like he should have done hours ago. Burst through doors, almost knocked an old lady over in his hurry to just get the fuck out of there. Not that he actually _ran. _Just hurried. Took long, determined strides until he got out into the cool evening air and finally managed to breathe. He had not realized that he was suffocating before he inhaled the Lima night – smoke from dying cigarettes, exhaust fumes and the wind of April. So different from the sickness and dying within the hospital, but not much better. Still, he felt liberated as he turned the corner and he could no longer see the building which he had left, only the street before him and the lights which lit it up. He tried his best to ignore the vague _swoosh _the letterman jacket made with every step he took on his way home. It was several blocks away, but he had no money for a cab and the bus did not take this route.

00:04. Puck found the spare key beneath the blue pot on the porch. He had considered walking all the way to school to get his truck and bag, but he might double over and gag at the sight of Hummel's blood. He flipped the key and the door creaked open when he turned the knob. The house was eerily quiet. It was late. Both mom and sister were probably sleeping. He stopped in the hall, reaching blindly for the light, but someone beat him to it. The flickering light of the brown ceiling lamp made his tired eyes burn and it took a while before he managed to make out the contours of his mother standing before him. She wore her dressing gown and slippers, obviously ready for bed, but the dark circles beneath her eyes indicated on something else except for the sleep deprivation. Worry and concern showed in every wrinkle and crease of her aging face, soon replaced with relief and then anger.

"Young man, where have you been?" she hissed in a harsh whisper, arms entangled across her chest. "I've called you at least three hundred times and not _once _did you pick up! I've been worried sick for you."

She kept her voice low so she would not wake his baby sister. Puck deflated visibly and found himself lost for words. His lips parted to speak, but shut just as quickly. Where should he even begin? His hands fumbled with the letterman jacket and her scrutinizing gaze reached it instinctively. The widening of her eyes would have been comical in any other situation.

"Noah, what have you done?"

Puck had not turned to his mother for comfort since he was a kid. Back then, his only problems had been stinging grazes on his knees and palms. Then his dead beat so called father walked out on them and he had automatically become the man of the family. From then on, he felt himself unable to lean on his mother for support. She was the one who needed support, not him. So he had kept his mouth shut and bottled things up, occasionally venting his emotions on some dweeb's face and stuck his dick into anyone with boobs and a mildly attractive face... or thrown Kurt Hummel into the dumpster. He had made it all by himself. Though now, when she looked at him with worry written all across her face, all he wanted to do was to crawl into her arms and stay there forever. At least until his chest stopped aching like it did. She was a head shorter than him and it was more like he embraced her than the other way around. His neck kind of hurt when his forehead dropped down upon her shoulder, but her warm, familiar scent of cooking and perfume made his turmoil of emotions make a bit more sense. He trembled visibly when she hugged him back.

"Ma... I'm so tired."

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**Author's note: A shorter chapter again, but that is how I like them. I sincerely hope you do too. I had originally planned to call this chapter **_**Gratitude **_**and taken the story a bit further, but decided to make that chapter 4 instead. **

**Don't you forget to review :D It makes me so incredibly happy to wake up with 20 review notifications in my inbox. I love y'all!**

**/Becka**


	4. Gratitude and guilt

**Author's note: I'm not sure how frequent my updates will be this week. I've got a lot of deadlines for school and have to finish my work for a photo exhibition by Friday... Not to mention that I've also got "**_**Move over, Hummel" **_**and "**_**How to successfully melt an Ice Queen" **_**waiting for updates. **

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**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Gratitude and guilt**

Thursday morning was a lot like every other Thursday morning. The parking lot was flooded with babbling students and cars in every shape and size before first period. Puck made a point not to look at Hummel's shiny black Navigator, which still stood there and waited for its owner. Everything was loud and cheerful, especially since the sun had decided to peak out this day. Though, there was a piece of the puzzle missing. The usual crowd of jocks was nowhere to be seen around the dumpster. Instead, they had been replaced by someone who looked an awful lot like a janitor. Puck was hesitant to approach him, but he had left his entire duffel bag there the night before and he needed everything it contained. The elderly man stretched his back and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. He seemed more than discouraged by the job he had been assigned. As Puck stepped closer, he noticed why. Next to the man was a bucket of suds and a sponge. It was his work to get the blood of the concrete. Puck swallowed hard, but he was not the kind who backs out. Eyes set firmly upon the man and _nowhere else, _he walked over to the dumpster.

"Hey, dude, I..."

The janitor turned his head in tired surprise, eyebrows slightly raised with an unasked question. Though, Puck had lost his entire trail of thought when he had caught sight of the dried pool covering a large portion of the asphalt behind the garbage container. It was just so... _so much. _He had known that Hummel had lost a lot of blood, he had been there, felt it pulsate out of his body, but it was still a shock when he actually looked down upon it. Swaying slightly, he did not realize that the janitor gave him an odd, though understanding look.

"If you're gonna puke, son, do it in the dumpster", he muttered and threw the blood soaked sponge into the water, which almost instantly turned a light shade of red. Puck almost took the man's advice. Struggling hard to keep his breakfast down, the little one he had managed to swallow that morning, he shook his head fervently.

"No, I... I just left my bag here, uhm, yesterday... Have you seen it?"

The janitor's eyes narrowed in slight suspicion when he eyed Puck from head to toe and back. He probably tried to figure out if _he_ was the reason to why he was mopping blood off the school parking lot.

"Yeah... check with Figgins."

Puck murmured an inaudible thank you and tried not to turn around too quickly, but all he wanted to do was to get the fuck out of there. He tore his eyes from the smudged handprint across the back of the dumpster, which he knew was his own. He could not even recall washing it off his hands. He thanked his messed up head from not keeping that memory in store.

* * *

Everything was just so... normal, he thought as he stepped through the doors to McKinley High and received the usual fear induced respect from his fellow students. No one knew. Or maybe the knew, but just did not care. That was even worse. How could they act like nothing had happened? Hummel had taken a fucking knife to the guts and Puck had _felt _life run out of him. They should be crying. Weeping and bawling their eyes out. At least look a bit sad. Instead, people laughed. Talked, flirted and hugged. Were they always this happy? It seemed extra prominent this day. He turned a corner... and there was Aretha. More lost than he had ever seen her. Her eyes were shimmering slightly, knees trembling with every hesitant step she took. Puck knew instantly that she knew. Someone had notified her, told her all about it. He came to a halt as soon as she put her eyes upon him. For a second or two, they just looked at each other. Not like Hummel had gazed into his eyes at the hospital, but it was similar. An array of mixed up emotions. Before he knew it, he found himself with his arms full of grateful, black girl. Any day but this day, he would have been grateful too, because even though Aretha had one hell of a temper and probably would cut his balls if he put a hand on her boob – she was bootylicious. He wanted to smack himself as soon as the thought had crossed his mind. Not the time, Puck. She barely reached to his shoulder, but her silently spoken words still reached his ear.

"Thank you."

Then she let go of him, smiled weakly and slowly trudged to her first lesson. Hummel used to be next to her by now, appearing completely refreshed after his dumpster dive and together they would sashay their way down the halls as if they owned them. If he ever had the time, he used to knock Hummel out of his fruity runway walk. He sort of missed how his shoulder totally knocked the wind out of him.

* * *

Principal Figgins was rolling his thumbs when Puck knocked on the door, seemingly deep in thought. There were tired lines across his face which he had never noticed before, not even when he had ended up in there three times the same day for giving patriotic wedgies to three different dweebs during the time span of 44 minutes. It was a McKinley High record. Somehow, he knew that those lines had showed up when he arrived to work the same morning and was met by a phone call about one of his students. Puck cleared his throat to get Figgins attention. The principle raised his gaze gradually.

"Mr Puckerman... Have a seat."

The foreign man, who Puck often saw as quite comical, was now so far from comical it was not even funny. Albeit, he wore a weak, polite smile he had never used in Puck's presence before. He crossed the room and sunk down into the chair he had been situated in so many times before, often with a disgruntled teacher at his side.

"I heard of what you did", the principal spoke, but not in the accusing tone he usually used when that sentence left his lips. This one was softer.

Puck did not reply. He had no answer.

"You did good. He will live, because of you."

There it was again. Even though Figgins never actually said thank you, the gratitude was visible in his eyes. Puck had saved him an immense amount of strain on his life. Who knew what kind of paper work he would have to go through if one of his students were stabbed to death outside of school. Stabbed to death on his watch.

"I left my bag", he said finally, disregarding the older man's words. "Yesterday. By the dumpsters. Is it here?"

Figgins blinked. He looked stupid. He had probably expected a different kind of reaction. Gathering himself swiftly, he made a gesture to the corner. Puck peeked over his shoulder. His duffel bag stood on the floor, next to a familiar satchel.

"Will you bring Mr Hummel his bag too?", the principal wondered and before he knew it, Puck nodded.

* * *

23 missed calls, 16 unread texts and 10 new voice mails. His cellphone had gotten a scratch, but it was still working. Most of it was from his mom. Her worried _where are you_s. There was a message from Finn.

**06:49 pm: **_Sup, dude? Wanna come over 4 sum Mario?_

And three from Santana.

**09:53 pm: **_i'm wet thinking of u_

**10:22 pm: **_hello?_

**10:59 pm: **_who's got ur knickers in a twist?_

It was all of a sudden so evident that he had been sitting for hours in an emergency room, waiting for frigging Kurt Hummel to be fine, and no one else had even been aware of it. Angrily pushing the digits, he deleted their messages. He sat on the bleachers, successfully avoiding going to class. He did not feel like it. It was US History about now. Hummel was in that class. His seat would be empty. Puck stayed on the bleachers.

Hummel's messenger bag laid beside him. His things which had been scattered all across the ground yesterday had been neatly tucked in again. The trashed scarf had been disposed of. Puck stole a glance on the flashing screen of his cellphone. 67 seven missed calls, 32 unread messages and 42 new voice mails. He had been missed. Missed, but not looked for, Puck reminded himself.

* * *

He ate lunch at his own table at a time he knew no one who saw through his glare of death would eat on. He really did not want more bone crushing hugs or heartfelt exclamations of gratitude. They could go shove it somewhere.

* * *

Math. He pretended to sleep in the nurse's office for two hours. What used to be such a simple feat was suddenly much more complicated.

* * *

He made a short appearance during last period. English. He excused himself after five minutes, decided that he ought to take a leak and then did not return.

* * *

It was Thursday. Thursday meant Glee Club. His feet moved automatically towards the choir room, even though his mind did not quite want it. He was already a few minutes late and the others would surely be there. Staring. That was just what they did. Every hushed whisper, every conversation came to an immediate halt as soon as he showed up upon the threshold. Aretha looked just as heartbroken as she had done the same morning. Finn sported a look comparable to a kicked puppy. Tina's bottom lip was quivering and Mike had laid a hand upon her shoulder for support. Mr Schue looked up from his position next to the piano and smiled softly, sending a nod in his direction. Puck made his way towards his empty seat. Hummel's seat, the one in the back, screamed with his absence. Quinn scooted her chair closer to his, so her arm brushed gently against him. It was a slight comfort. The silence, which so rarely occurred in the choir room during Glee practice, was nearly deafening until Mr Schue finally cleared his throat and parted his lips to speak. Surprise surprise, someone else beat him to it.

"Mr Schue?"

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Can I say something?"

"Go ahead."

Man Hands came to her feet, adjusting her mustard yellow skirt. Hummel would find it atrocious. For the first time in a really long while, Puck wanted to rip a girl's skirt off without sexual intentions.

"Of course, we are all very upset", she began. Wow, understatement of the year. "One of our own has been made the victim of a terrible hate crime and I for one feel especially affected, what with having two gay dads, and I am convinced that the healthiest choice is to vent our disarray of emotions. Though, I have noticed that no one feels like talking. Therefore, I have taken the liberty to select a song which I think speaks for all of us..."

Rachel's buttload of crap was interrupted by a dark chuckle which escaped Puck's lips before he could stop it. Wide eyed, everyone turned to him.

"Singing?" he said, a hollow tone to his voice which sent chills even through himself. "You suggest that we _sing about it?"_

An anger, much like the one he had felt when Hummel rejected him, said that he was _fine, _started simmering beneath his skin. Rachel barely managed to nod, for once without words.

"I'm fucking sick and tired of you _singing _all the time. _Singing _is not going to stitch him up. _Singing _can't make all of it go away. _Singing _is fucking _useless._"

He was on his feet now, staring blankly at their shocked faces. He felt nothing except that rage which just kept on growing within.

"You were probably _singing _when it happened. You probably walked right by him, _singing _so loud that you didn't hear him."

"Puck..." Mr Schue warned weakly, but only received a glare in return.

"You know what the doctor said? Do you know? She said that he had been waiting to be found. Bleeding. He had been right there, behind that fucking dumpster, while all of you walked by because you can never hear anything except your own goddamn voices!"

They were squirming. All of them. Tina and Mercedes had tears in their eyes. He could not fucking care less. They were pathetic. They had no reason to cry.

"I found him. I sat in that enormous pool of b-blood and had to hear him say that he was cold. And you know what he did then? He had the nerve to fucking smile and _die_ on me."

Someone sobbed. Rachel had slumped down in her seat again. Puck did not notice. The words he had wanted to get out of himself was finally gushing out and there was no stop to it.

"Three minutes and 23 seconds! He was dead for three minutes and 23 seconds. I literally felt his heart stop beating and _watched _how the paramedics tried to get him running again. _I _was the one who sat with his dad for five hours and waited for someone to tell us what the fuck was going on." His eyes zeroed in on Rachel. "So you're not singing about this. You have no damn right to."

He was trembling with adrenaline. His chest heaved in painful breaths. He needed to punch something. Like, now. Preferably their guilty faces.

* * *

**Author's note: There will most probably be ass-kicking in chapter 5. And yeah, you guessed right: I don't like Rachel.**

**There was more dialogue in this chapter and especially Puck's outburst was hard to write. I'm not sure I got it quite right... Yeah, tell me if you liked it or not. I just needed him to vent what he had kept bottled up the entire day.**

**I live for those reviews so keep 'em coming :'D**

**/Becka**


	5. Exhaustion

**Author's note: YES! I made you cry, didn't I? I'm just that awesome :'D Hah, jokes aside – thank you for all the reading, reviewing, alerting and choosing this story as one of your favorites. I've gotten 46 reviews on the last chapter. FOURTY SIX! That's insane. I love you all. **

**I wonder, I wonder... if **_**Letterman jacket **_**soon can rival out **_**Move over, Hummel **_**as my most popular story. It sure as hell looks like it.**

**Anyone else who was incredibly bored with the Sam/Quinn romance during "Duets"? We don't need more straight dudes fawning over the Cheerios. We've been there! Give Kurt a boyfriend already! (And yeah, I know about Blaine. Still ain't happy about it.) The only good thing about it was Chris Colfer and Le Jazz Hot combined in epicness. That performance was **_**SEX**_**!**

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**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Exhaustion**

He was _boiling. _Every part of him itched to kick, hit and _destroy _as he stalked the empty halls of McKinley. He had torn himself from the choir room before someone got seriously hurt. Mr Schue had called his name, Finn had gotten to his feet, but none of them had followed him. Wise choice. He feared that anyone who came in his way in this moment might suffer a terrible death. Not that he knew where the hell he was going, just _away. _Puck turned the nearest corner, marching down the corridor his locker was in. He might as well fetch his stuff and get the fuck out of there. He stopped, trembling fingers reached out to open the beige locker. Instead of flipping the right combination, his palm met the cool surface of the metal and was seconds later joined by his forehead. One deep breath in, one out. He had nearly slapped a girl. _A girl. _Sure, her boobs were like, minimal, and her hands were kind of big, but Rachel was a girl. He would know. Yet, even just thinking back at the very recent moment, the same fiery anger was reignited within his body. _She had no right._ His splayed hand curled in on itself, knuckles whitening. A muffled noise, sounding much like a snicker, caught his attention. He was not alone. His head snapped immediately to his left, where a figure in a familiar red and white letterman jacket stood and eyed his surroundings. Langenthal. Puck's eyebrows creased in a moment of confusion. Langenthal did not have a locker in this corridor. What was he even doing here? The guy was rummaging through his duffel bag, the same kind of bag which Puck had, apparently looking for something. When that sorry excuse of a football player pulled a spray can out of his bag, he knew instantly who's locker he stood in front of... and what he was doing in that corridor. Puck had written that three letter word over that particular locker before. It had been a joy seeing Hummel walk up to it, all high and mighty, until his smile was wiped directly off his face and replaced with a a quick flash of hurt hesitation before he tried to act as nothing had happened. That second of widened blue eyes had been totally worth it. Though, this time, things would be different. Puck was unstoppable, completely and utterly consumed by the rage which had spread through his entire body. Langenthal raised the hand holding the spray can, smirking when a red F appeared on his accord. Puck would smudge that darn smirk right off his ugly ass face.

"Puck? Hey, man, look at this...!"

He was laughing. _Laughing. _Puck's hands were balled up into fists when he approached him, just barely containing the Hulk within. Langenthal's face was scrunched up in a malicious grin and he had never wanted to _hurt _someone as bad as he wanted to hurt him right now. Before he knew it, he had Langenthal pressed up against the same locker he wrote slurs on, Hummel's locker, his collar trapped into the harsh grip of his fist. The spray can dropped to the floor with a clatter.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Never before had he seen Langenthal that scared. His eyes were wide like saucers and he had instantly paled since the second his feet left the linoleum floor beneath. A pleasant thrill shot through Puck, a thrill more intense than when having any of those dweebs at his mercy. It might have something to do with the fact that this one actually deserved what was coming.

"What the hell, Puckerman? It's just the fag's...!"

The following words got stuck in his throat when he was dragged across the hall. Puck was going on autopilot, not one sensible thought crossed his mind, he just could not think. He knew what Langenthal deserved and he was going to give it to him. The other jock struggled in his grip, sweaty hands tried to pry him away, but all in vain. Puck was bigger, stronger. He was the Incredible Puck and Langenthal was just some skinny twig who could not kick a field goal if his life depended on it. Unlike Hummel, who would pull it off in a tutu. The door to the boy's bathroom was flung open easily, just as the door to the nearest stall. The familiar stench of faeces and pee hit him in the face hard. Langenthal was cursing, shouting, begging him not to do it, but he did not hear a word of what he said. He simply shoved his stupid head into the porcelain toilet bowl and flushed, one hand entangled with his brown strands of hair. Again and then again. One more time so he was sure that he had gotten the point across.

It was all over in just a matter of minutes. As suddenly as it had happened, as suddenly did he release the hold he had on the back of his neck. Langenthal threw himself backwards, landing on his retarded ass while coughing and gagging, gasping for air. Water spluttered out of his mouth and nose. It dripped from his hair and eyelashes. There was a wet spot covering his crotch. Pathetic. Puck wanted to knock his lights out, but thought better of it. He was beginning to cool down now.

"You leave Hummel the fuck alone, okay? If I ever see you around that locker again, I'll come after you. You hear me?"

He was nodding through his coughs, blue eyes watering and cheeks burning with embarrassment after the initial shock had faded. One last look at what he had done, a sense of accomplishment filling his body where the rage once had been, and he turned on his heel to walk out of there. The spray can was still on the floor, the F and the beginning of an A was screaming for his attention when he entered the hallway again. He walked right past it, heading for his own locker to grab the duffel bag and the slightly torn satchel that belonged to Hummel. He could hear Langenthal scrambling for his last pieces of confidence and dignity when he put himself together, just like Hummel used to do. The great difference was that when the fairy got out of that bathroom, he looked stunning, like it had never happened. Langenthal looked like a drenched cat. Puck did not look at it him when he walked by. The smaller jock was staring at his feet.

He did not quite know how he had gotten there. The hospital, so large and threatening, towered before him. His truck stood in the parking lot, so he had quite obviously driven there, but could not really recall the taken route. Hummel's bag was thrown over his shoulder when he stepped through the doors. His eyes fluttered swiftly to the seat he had occupied just the other day. It felt as if an eternity had passed, although it was not even an entire day. Mary, that nurse, was not there. She had been replaced by a young man who gave his ragged appearance a once-over before pointing him in the right direction. Hummel had been moved from the ICU. He was stable, out of harms way. A weight which he had not been aware of was suddenly lifted from his shoulders, as he walked through white hallways to find the right room. Room number 225, second floor. It was not particularly hard to find. Puck found it far more difficult to actually step into the room. There was a small window next to the door, over the sign which announced which number the room had. The small, pale shape of Hummel was tucked down in between white sheets. The grip he had around the messenger bag hardened considerably when an, from the distance, inaudible cough coursed through Hummel's body and left him grimacing when his fingers instantly moved to his side. The same side Puck had been clutching tightly yesterday. Yesterday. Was it really yesterday? It seemed so far away, so distant. He watched in quiet awe when Hummel's eyelids opened and his gaze crossed the room hazily. He was searching for someone. His dad, maybe. Where was he, anyway? Hummel needed him. He looked so... tiny and vulnerable. Puck did not like that look on his face one bit. It was nothing like the superior ice queen facade he usually sported, the one Puck used to enjoy to watch when it faltered. It was just... hurt. Without even realizing it, he stepped closer to the clean surface of the glass which kept them apart. Hummel had not noticed him and maybe that was for the better. He would not know what to say or do to make him feel better.

"Puckerman?"

Puck nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice at his side. Hummel Senior stood right next to him. How had he not heard him approach? He was a big guy, he should have noticed. A treacherous voice in the back of his mind told him something he did not want to hear, because he was no queer. He had not been busy watching over him. That was just gay.

"What are you doing here?"

Mr Hummel had a cup of coffee in his hand. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, just like his son. Puck fumbled with the words, his mind instantly blank. _I wanted to see him. _Instead of speaking, he simply slid the messenger bag off his shoulder and reached it out to Mr Hummel to grab. Tentatively, the older man took it from his hands.

"Everything's there", Puck said, his voice hoarse and sounding unused. "Cellphone, car keys... His car is still in the parking lot at school. You should probably pick it up before something happens to it."

His blue eyes with specks of green, so much like Hummel's, seemed to see straight through him. He shuffled awkwardly in front of his scrutinizing gaze until he finally spoke.

"Why don't you bring this to him yourself?"

It was not a question. It was an order. Of course, Puck could have walked away. Sprinted down the hall and forgotten all about it. Though, he was frozen to the spot, unable to move when the bag was shoved back into his arms. He was not going anywhere, judging by the look on the older man's determined face. Resigning to his fate, he took a small step closer to the door which lead into Hummel's room. Hummel Senior smiled weakly when he pushed down the handle and physically forced him across the threshold.

* * *

He was exhausted. Kurt had been exhausted before, struggling with insomnia throughout a larger part of his life after his mother's death, but never quite like this. It was a constant weight upon his eyelids, refusing to go away no matter how much he fell in and out of sleep. Maybe you should not even call it sleep. It was more like a drug induced haze as the pain killers tried to numb away the stinging in his side. They did not work. The pain killers, that is. The doctor, who had introduced herself as Hardwicke, was reluctant to give him more to ease it away. Of course, his dad argued. No son of his would ever be in pain if he could help it. Kurt, on the other hand, did not say a word. Sure, it felt like he had been run through a meat grinder, but it kept his mind and thoughts occupied. He had something to focus on, instead of the memories he tried his best to shut out. He feared drifting off too far, out into the unknown. He feared seeing their blurred faces before him. So in between his small, not so refreshing naps, he kept himself busy with complaining quietly about the scarce salad selection and just _feeling _the painful jabs rip through his ribs whenever he spoke or moved even the slightest.

His dad had gotten a bed to stretch out on next to him and had finally come to rest after much fuzzing, rustling and bustling. There had been tears, anger and so much sorrow before Kurt had managed to smile and gotten a hold of his hand. Then he had, slowly and as clearly possible, explained that he was _fine. _They both knew that it was a lie, since he looked more dead than alive, but Dad got the hint. He shut up and listened to how a small blend of lettuce and tomatoes could not be called a salad and that the color of the sheets mismatched his skin terribly. Let us just say that it was not Dior Gray. Though, now his father was nowhere to be seen and there was nothing to keep his mind away from those dark places. His eyebrows creased when he bravely fought the flashing images before his eyes, their gleaming grins and their... The door flung open with a loud noise and Kurt's attention snapped immediately to the boy who stumbled through it. He thought he caught a glimpse of his dad through the door opening, but the shadow was soon gone. Kurt's lips parted in surprise and confusion. Puck. His heart made a pleased jolt. Wide-eyed, he watched him regain his balance and composure. Of all the people he had expected to barge through that door, Puck was not one of them. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the jock's warm arms around his body. If he concentrated enough, he could still feel the smell from the letterman jacket Puck had enveloped him in. Sweat, cologne and _boy. _Looking at him now, he was so much _boy. _One of his large, calloused hands had almost instantly traveled to his head, his fingers automatically reaching for a stripe of hair that was not there any longer. A sign of nervousness. For the first time in his life, he felt some sort of compassion for the boy who had never looked so awkward before.

"Uhm... Hi."

"Hello."

* * *

Fuck. The kid looked like crap, even worse now than through the window. There was a slight bruising around his left eye. Puck had not noticed that before. Had they hit him too? _Those fucking buttloads of stinking assface crap...! _Hummel made a wheezing sound every time he inhaled, every time he breathed and those eyes... wide, not entirely blue and not exactly green either. They watched him with obvious shock. What the hell was he supposed to say?

"I... I brought your bag."

Smooth, Puck, very smooth. A small smile twitched in the corners of Hummel's mouth. Something churned pleasantly in his abdomen at the sight. The sheets rustled when he released one of his weak hands from their place beneath the comforter. The pale limb stretched out towards him and for a second, he almost thought that Hummel wanted to take his hand and be all gay or something, but he quickly realized that he was reaching out for his own bag. Puck retracted his hand immediately. He had not even hesitated. _Fuck. _The messenger bag was handed to its rightful owner and there was something vaguely pleased over Hummel's features which made that sense of accomplishment he had felt earlier intensify. He had made Hummel happy, all by himself.

"The... the scarf thingy was ruined, but the rest is there", he continued, an awkwardness to his voice which he did not manage to get rid of.

Hummel looked up from investigating the content of the bag. He looked so tired. Exhausted, yet there was a gentle twinkle in his otherwise obscure gaze. When he parted his plump lips to speak, he was smiling as brightly as he mustered. It was not that bright at all. Puck thought that he was going to have a heart attack. You could easily notice how it strained him.

"Thank you."

They both knew that he was not thanking him for rescuing his leather satchel.

"Anytime."

Puck was surprised when he realized that he actually meant it.

He had not stayed at the hospital for very long. Neither Puck nor Hummel had found the appropriate words to say and it all ended with an awkward wave goodbye. Puck had promptly ignored the pleased fluttering deep within his core when he later stepped out in the parking lot and walked over to his truck. It did not mean shit that Hummel's grateful eyes made him feel freaking _golden _or whatever.


	6. IMPORTANT MESSAGE to my readers

**Here is a message to all of you, my wonderful readers.**

**I was not satisfied with chapter 5. I was kind of stressed out, I had been sleeping poorly and everything was just kind of crappy. The thing is... I'm a review whore. I wanted to post it as soon as possible, so your reviews could cheer me up. It took its toll on the quality of chapter 5. When I re-read it after some sleep, I came to the realization that it was quite rushed. Therefore, I've rewritten it and tried to slow it down a bit. Nothing in the storyline has changed, but I made some improvements. I hope you want to read the new version of the chapter and notify me if you liked it better or not.**

**Lots of lovin'**

**Becka**


	7. Waiting

**Author's note: Sorry for the wait. I hope it's worth it. I would really love if you could review. It makes my day.**

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**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Waiting**

Week one without Hummel around was weird. Knowing exactly who was missing and why made his absence far more prominent. Puck had never quite grasped how accustomed he was to seeing him strut the hallways of McKinley... and how empty it all seemed when he was not able to. Yet again, it appeared as if he was the only one who noticed. Everything carried on as if Hummel had never been there. The only ones who appeared to be affected were the ones who had felt that singing about it might be a good option. Puck did not return to those people during week one.

When week two hit, word got out. Surely, some people must have known before, but the story spread all across school with the speed of light after Jewfro posted some shit on his retarded blog. He had the nerve to question the authenticity of it; was it really a hate crime, or just an excuse for leaving school for fat camp? Apparently, "everyone" knew that Coach Sylvester was on his case about his pear hips. Merely 24 minutes after posting, Figgins was notified by the fact that the resident gossipmonger was hanging from his underwear at the top of the flag pole. His head had been shaved.

Puck was cornered by Goth Chick and Wheels while he was setting some unmistakable orange hair on fire behind the gym. They gave him odd glances before realization hit them. The somewhat pleased smile tugging at Goth Chick's lips confirmed that she approved. Though, her eyes were still sad when she asked him to come back to Glee Club. Wheels nodded in approval of her question. They were the first to ask. He politely declined their offer.

"Fuck off."

When Santana came to wheel him back in, she had Brittany for back-up. Hip jutted out to the right, manicured claws clutching her sides as she whipped her pony-tail his way. There was a crease between her eyebrows which had not been there before, something twitching in the tired muscles.

"You better come back before I seriously snap Man-Hands neck...!"

Brittany was constantly nodding, vacant eyes bloodshot after hours of crying. It was distracting. Or, it would have been, if Puck cared at all of what was leaving Santana's mouth. Her lips moved too fast, the words just kept gushing out and he wanted it to _stop. _

_"No."_

He turned on his heel and walked away before the usually rough Latina linked pinkies with her girlfriend, before he could notice how she caressed Brittany's wrist in an act of comfort.

Week three and the cops came around to talk. One was burly and the other slim. The burly one had an impressive mustache and the small one kept adjusting his pants, as if he had lost a lot of weight during a short amount of time. They did not look like much. Lima's finest, huh? One of them stifled a yawn. Puck wanted to kick his face in for not paying enough attention. They asked a lot of questions. They told him to describe the scene, the events, every word exchanged between him and Hummel.

_"I'm cold."_

Puck slept in his mother's bed for the first time in eleven years.

The metal bleachers were cold. _Like his skin beneath my fingers._ Even though it was April, the wind was still chilly. The football field laid deserted before him, but that was how he preferred it nowadays. He just wanted to eat his lunch in peace, far away from all the _noises _and _voices _and people _who didn't give a shit. _It had become a habit to wander away, to find somewhere secluded to just be. He had not heard from the cops again. They said that they would keep in touch, tell him if they had found something new. Puck dropped the second half of his sandwich to the metal beneath him, the half he did not muster to eat. If he heard the footsteps approaching, he did not acknowledge them. Not even when someone slumped down next to him did he give some form of recognition.

"Hey, dude."

For a second, he considered ignoring Finn completely. Then he thought better of it. Finn was still his boy.

"Hey, man."

He thought he caught a glimpse of a brief smile upon that dopey face and he understood that he had done the right thing. Still, Finn did not speak. Just sat there, much like Puck himself, staring out on the empty field. Had he come out there to do nothing but stare, to keep him company? The way he was constantly shifting in his seat told him differently.

"Spill it."

Puck's voice was hoarse from being unused.

"Huh?"

He tried really hard not to get mad at him. True story. And he tried not to snap. He really did. It just did not work out that well.

"I said; spill it."

Finn flinched. As if the tone he used actually hurt. Maybe it did. Puck did not feel remorse.

"Uhm... I just wanted to... talk a bit", Finn tried hesitantly. When he received no reply from his best friend, he simply continued. "About Rachel." Still no reply. "She's sorry, you know?" A snort. "She really is. She just... That's how she handles everything, you know? She sings. That's what she does when she needs venting. Just like you and your dweeb tossing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She wants you to come back. We all want you to come back."

"So?"

"So, why don't you?"

_Because he is not there. _Puck did not reply.

"Puck, man... I know this shit is fucked up, but you can't hide out here forever..."

"Why not?"

The words had escaped him before he could stop them and it sounded childish even to him. He promptly ignored the pitying look Finn gave him. He hated it. Puckzilla never hid from anything. His fingers clenched the edges of the bleachers beneath him harder, his stubborn gaze set upon a browner patch of grass upon the field. Finn moved around beside him, leaning forwards with his hands holding onto each other.

"Just come back."

The bleachers creaked ever so slightly when Finn sighed and got up. His hand hovered in the air above his shoulder, large and warm and comforting. Finn let it land and squeezed gently. Puck shrugged it off. He was not the one in need of comfort. He knew without looking at him that Finn was pulling that kicked puppy face again.

"You know that he's back, right?"

He literally froze, his eyes immediately darting to his best friend who still stood looming over him. His neck hurt from tilting it in such an odd angle. Finn had shoved his hands down his pockets and smiled weakly.

"He's back home. He got discharged from the hospital last week. Mom's been over there to, you know... support Burt and everything."

Puck simply stared. Finn's already weak smile faltered and he looked at his shoes.

"I hear it's pretty bad."

"Yeah?"

Was that his voice? That croak?

"Yeah." Finn shuffled a few step backwards. "I need to go. Rachel's waiting. I'll see you in Glee."

It was not a question, just a statement. Puck did not even bother with correcting him before he had descended the stairs and disappeared around the corner.

Week four. The twenty ninth. A month. He was still not there. His seat in US History was as vacant as it has been every single day for an entire month. Puck was not even bothered by how his eyes helplessly always returned to that empty chair every five minutes. He had tried to resist during the first days (the few days he actually attended any of his lessons), but he knew by now that there was no use. He felt impatient – the wait made him jittery. He could feel his limbs ache with the need to do _something_, his mind throbbing with vibrant memories he would rather just forget.

It happened before he even realized what he was doing. Lunch break and he sat suddenly in his beat-up old truck, heading towards one of the garages in town. He told himself it was not solely because of a certain someone, but because The Studmobile truly needed a check-up. The engine sounded funny, it had done so for a couple of weeks now. So what if he drove all across town, past two perfectly fine garages to finally end up at _Hummel's Tires & Lube? _

It was a decent looking place. They probably charged more than Puck could afford. The sign upon the roof was old and slightly battered from the Lima weather. Someone had tried to scrub off graffiti from one of the grey walls. The black letters was runny and disfigured by the water, but not completely gone. Those words was what finally got Puck to turn the engine off and get out of the car.

_Fucking faggot had it coming!_

Mellencamp was playing on the stereo. Pink Houses blasted out across the entire lot. Kurt's lesbian days flashed by his inner cinematic picture so quickly he almost had to stop to prevent the worst dizziness. He shoved his hands down his pockets and hesitantly moved towards the grey building, nervousness and excitement building equally fast within his abdomen. He felt _close, _somehow. Closer than he had been in a month. It felt better.

"Puckerman?"

He flipped around swiftly when his name was called by a familiar voice; gruff, but yet surprised. Burt Hummel stood next to an old Toyota, cleaning his hands off with an already greasy towel. He doubted that it did any difference. Burt watched him with those eyes. Those eyes that were so similar to _his. _Puck was soon painfully reminded about the fact that he was no good with dads. They simply did not like him. He licked his lips in a nervous gesture and desperately tried to find the right words. He settled on a simple;

"Hi."

Burt pulled some sort of grimace which he thought was supposed to be a smile.

"Hi, kid. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Hummel Senior looked older than he had at the hospital. More... hollow. The bags beneath his eyes were more prominent, the lines and scars deeper. The eyes sadder. Puck could not lie to him.

"Yeah."

The towel was shoved down into the pocket of his coverall and Puck was ready for the berating, for the order to get the hell back to school. It never came.

"Having car troubles?"

"Yeah", he repeated, feeling stupid.

"Want me to take a look at it?"

"Yeah... please."

The word was awkward and uncomfortable upon his tongue. He could not remember the last time he had used it.

"It's been making noises for a while", he explained quietly while he popped open the hood and Mr Hummel only nodded, grunted some sort of confirmation.

He worked mostly in silence; looking and touching, plucking and turning. Sometimes he would look up at Puck and explain what he was doing, show him where the cause to the weird sound was and tell him what do to if it ever happened again. Puck, no matter how studly he was, did not understand cars at all. The driving he could do and he remembered what the most basic parts were called, but standing next to Mr Hummel and listening to his explanations made the thoughts come back. Those which made his head throb. So, when another silence commenced, he could do nothing to stop the words from leaving his lips.

"How... how is he?"

Hummel Senior froze in mid-movement, staring at his hands. Puck watched him carefully, how he seemed to catch himself and wake up to life again, automatically reaching for that greasy towel. He did not look at Puck when he spoke.

"Not so good."

Something cold settled deep within his stomach. So Finn had been right? Mr Hummel reached up for his hairline, tilting his baseball cap back to scratch at his scalp. The mention of his son made him look even more out of shape than he had been before.

"The wound has healed and all, you can barely see a thing, but... Yeah, it's not that scar I'm worrying about."

Puck thought that he got it. Mr Hummel threw a short glance at him. The graffiti upon the wall stood out even more now. He felt sick.

"He's... he's not really himself anymore."

Silence fell again. It was stifled and strained this time around, something eerie in the air between them. Puck wanted to ask more, but his lips would not move, his vocal cords would not do his bidding. Mr Hummel closed the hood with a light snap.

"Start the engine, kid", he murmured and Puck hurried towards the driver's seat.

It was clear that the subject of Kurt was dropped.

The engine purred when it came to life. Mr Hummel pulled that grimace that was supposed to be a smile again. It looked as if it pained him. Puck bowed his head in shame – the same shame that colored his cheeks when he spoke.

"About the payment... I'll get the money, but it might take some time."

He had been running low on cash since Schue's psycho wife fired him for making that pedophile Sandy Ryerson cry because he could not get him the right color of green to his retarded bath rug.

"Don't even bother. This is the least I could do."

When Mr Hummel reached out to squeeze his shoulder, just like Finn had done, he did not shrug it off. Instead he felt this unexplainable need to return the favor, because he sure looked like he could use it. Deciding that it would just be weird, he simply opened the car door and got in.

"Thank you, Mr Hummel."

"See you around, Puckerman."


	8. Gold fish

**Author's note: This is just a short little treat for you guys while I'm slowly working on the next chapter.**

**Now, about the slow updates; believe me, I'm working as fast as I can. I open the documents every time I start my computer and sometimes I just end up staring at them. This is no easy story to write and I'm doing my best to keep up with the standard I've set. Therefore, I don't want to rush the "real" chapters", but I might give you treats like this one when the waiting is too long. Please send me a review to tell me if you like it or not.**

**Hugs and kisses,  
Becka**

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**LETTERMAN JACKET  
Gold fish**

**WEEK 1**

"San?"

The dark-haired Cheerio flipped her head around to lay her eyes on Brittany, who stood very still in the door-opening. She had been crying and some strands of blonde hair had been pulled from her usually meticulous ponytail.

"Britt? What's wrong?"

When acknowledged, she silently waddled into the room and flopped down on the bed in an uncharacteristically ungraceful heap. Santana did not hesitate – she dropped her homework and joined her upon the sheets. Her arms found their way around her waist with practiced ease. Brittany was shaking in her embrace.

"Was someone mean to you? Who's head am I gonna rip off?"

"No ones", came the muffled reply, murmured into her clavicle.

"What is it then?"

There was a short silence, in which Santana knew that Brittany was too busy with fitting all the confusing puzzle bits together to form a swift response. She simply waited, knowing that it would come soon enough.

"Is Kurt going to die?"

Her heart skipped a beat. Of every possible conversation that Santana had been expecting (and there was always plenty enough of possible conversations with Brittany), this had not been it. This was also the one conversation she was not too keen on having, since she knew she could not possibly reply with what Brittany needed to hear. She did not want to lie to her.

"Who told you that?" she asked, her voice sounding not quite like her own – more strangled.

"I heard Finn and Rachel talking about it. Finn was really sad and Rachel hugged him a lot."

Of course Frankenteen and Dwarf would go around parading their feelings out in the open, not caring shit about what it did to others. What it did to Britt.

"When my gold fish died, mom flushed it down the toilet. They're not gonna flush Kurt down the toilet, are they?"

Others would have laughed at this reasoning, but Brittany looked up at her with wide eyes swimming with pained tears and Santana could do nothing but shake her head.

"No, Britt, they're not gonna flush Kurt down the toilet."

Obvious relief flooded her gorgeous face and she once again settled in, cradled to Santana's chest. Her hands held onto the front of her shirt – the grip had eased ever so slightly with the reassurance that Kurt would indeed not be flushed down the toilet. A quiet moment passed. Brittany's moist breath hit her skin softly with every even exhale.

"San?"

"Yeah?"

"Could we get naked now? It feels better when we're naked."

"Sure, Britt."

Santana allowed a smile to play with her lips when her hand reached for her hair to undo the ponytail. She hoped that Brittany had forgotten that she never answered her first question.


	9. Visits

**Author's notes: Okay, so before anyone even asks me; my time line is fucked up**** and I've put myself in such a situation that I have to say "screw canon". This is me trying to work around the mess I've made;  
****Quinn's **_**not **_**preggo. Though, she did however sleep with Puck, which is still a secret.  
****Kurt's crushing on Finn.  
****Quinn and Finn are still together. Rachel's still pining for him.**

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**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Visits**

Tap, tap, tap. That was the sound his impatient fingers made against the steering wheel. He had never been there to visit before – only to nail their lawn furniture to the roof. It was not exactly a super fancy place. It looked pretty ordinary, actually; white wooden panels, dark grey (it had probably been black once) roof, a couple of bushes around the driveway and the gravel path leading up to the porch and front door. Not that he had ever thought about it, but Puck had always reckoned that Kurt lived in some sort of glittery castle or something. This was so... _normal. _Though, maybe it was really cool on the inside. Maybe this house was like that wardrobe; go deep enough and you will fall down into Narnia or whatever.

Still... it was homey. Personal. Intimate or something. Puck licked his lips. He felt as if he was intruding. Was he even supposed to be there? Tap, tap, tap. Sigh. Screw this shit. He unbuckled his seat belt as fast as he could, in fear of changing his mind, and kicked the door open. He had parked The Studmobile across the street, worrying about Mr Hummel catching sight of it before he was ready to get in there. Man, he sounded like a chick.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. His well-worn combat boots made that noise as they met with the gravel. It was all he could really focus on, except for his rapid heart going _thump, thump, thump_. What the fuck was it doing? Trying to break out of his chest? Damn, it almost hurt. Rubbing his hand over his lack of Mohawk, trying to swallow down the thickness in his throat, his fingers reached out for the door bell and _they didn't fucking tremble, _okay? They did not. Seriously. He pressed the little button.

* * *

The watch on top of the wall turned five minutes past three. A resonant sigh was heard from the short brunette who stood tapping her foot next to the piano.

"He's not coming", Rachel said loudly, receiving an amount of glares from her fellow Glee clubbers, who all sat in their respective seat.

"If you just had kept your big mouth shut for once in your life, Puck would have been here by now", snapped Quinn instantly with a chorus of hums of agreement following her words.

Rachel simply crossed her arms over her chest and glared back.

"I was trying to _help the team_ with coping", she said through gritted teeth, trying her very best to ignore the snorts of amusement erupting from her team mates.

"Oh _please... _Like you ever think of anyone but yourself", Santana interjected with her characteristic head bob and lips pursed together.

"Hey, guys, lay off Rachel, alright?" Finn's eyes darted in between the grateful Rachel and his disapproving girlfriend. "She... she meant well, okay?"

The small hesitation in his words did nothing but fuel the distaste they all felt against their lead singer's lack of tact.

"She might have meant well..." Artie started carefully.

"... but thanks to her we don't only lack one member, but two."

Mercedes' quiet tone could have gone by unnoticed, but the fact that she had barely spoken during the entire school day made them all turn towards her. Rachel looked hurt, but she felt no remorse. She only said what they were all thinking.

"I don't think Kurt's coming back", she continued, the sadness she felt so clearly audible in her voice.

She could still hear his words echo through her head; _"Could you please just go?"_ It had hurt more than she cared to admit, to hear her best friend ask her to leave without even turning around to look at her.

* * *

Too late now. Too late to run back to his truck and get out of there. He was left rooted to the spot, staring at his feet and trying to remember what he was going to say, what he was even doing there. Though, before he came up with an answer, the front door was pushed open and Mr Hummel stood before him, coffee mug in hand. He looked like he needed it. Like, badly. No offense, but how did he even manage to look worse than he had did that day at the garage? Not even a week had passed and he looked at least a decade older.

"Puckerman", he greeted him with a small nod.

"Hey, Mr Hummel. Is..."

He had almost asked if Kurt was home before he realized that it was a truly idiotic question. Of course he was home.

"Can I help you, kid?"

Mr Hummel's forehead had creased in genuine concern. Puck's brain scrambled quickly for some sort of excuse to actually be there, because seriously? The studliest stud of McKinley did not just show up unannounced on the gay kid's doorstep to "hang out" or something.

"Uh, yeah... I brought Kurt's homework."

Great work, brain. Just awesome. Mr Hummel's eyes lit up with slight amusement as he glanced over at Puck's empty hands; no books and no bags. Nevertheless, he stepped aside to let him in. Puck hid his surprise poorly, eyes wide and his steps hesitant as he crossed the threshold.

It was not exactly Narnia. It was still not how he had pictured Kurt's home. This seemed to suit his father more, but the burly man next to him probably lacked the ability to decorate a house. No, this was the making of a woman – all from the frames upon the walls to the frilly curtains in the petite kitchen visible through the brown living room. The pictures showed a happy family. He could barely recognize Mr Hummel with hair, but there he was with short brown hair, small curls resembling the ones of a 'fro. Puck tried to school his features into indifference, but the humor disappeared swiftly when he laid eyes on a delicate looking woman, holding a young boy in her arms. Puck could not remember ever seeing Kurt smile so wide.

Mr Hummel cleared his throat and Puck flipped around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet. Kurt's father offered him what he guessed was supposed to be a smile.

"He's down there", he said, pointing towards a white door on the other side of the hallway. "Be sure to knock, but don't bother with waiting for a reply."

Yeah, that did not sound creepy at all. Mr Hummel nodded one last time and left Puck alone in the hallway. His heart had picked up speed again and did so with every small step he took towards the door in question. It was slightly ajar, but there was no noise to be heard from the basement. Puck swallowed hard and raised his hand to knock on the door. He cringed at the sound his knuckles made as they meet with the wood – it sounded far too loud in his ears.

The door creaked open by the touch of his hand to reveal a staircase and white walls. For every step he took down the stairs, more of the dimly lit room was visible for his curious eyes. The difference between this room and the ones upstairs was almost laughable. Puck could immediately identify Kurt's touch – the cold, minimalistic and clean surfaces. It was distant and not something he would ever have thought to find in Lima, Ohio. In an IKEA catalog? Sure. In a flat on Manhattan? Sure. Not here. Then of course, Kurt had never belonged here. It was only natural that his room would not do so either.

He stood on the very last step and looked across the room in diffident silence. He would not even have noticed him if it was not for the single lit lamp next to the bed.

All that was really visible was an unruly mop of hair and a small piece of exposed, porcelain skin directly beneath the chocolaty strands. The rest was covered by a fluffy comforter – a curled up body underneath the sheets. He had his back towards him. Was he sleeping? No. Puck got the nasty feeling that he was very much awake and just... did not bother with anything else but staring into the wall. It was not a particularly pleasant feeling. Especially when Kurt did not acknowledge his presence at all. He should say something. Maybe he had not heard him knocking. Maybe he had not heard him come down the stairs... He should say hi.

"'Sup, Hummel?"

Nothing. Not even a little flinch through his body, some sign of his surprise to hear him down there, in his basement. Not a thing – just a really awkward, thick silence which made a good job of trying to strangle Puck's vocal cords. Maybe he actually was asleep? No, Puck was pretty sure that he was not. He should try again.

"Are you okay, man?"

Could he be more lame? Probably not. _Of course _he was not okay, otherwise he would be in school and Glee and everything. Not stare into a wall in his room. Kurt did not even shift.

"I mean... I get that you're not okay. I just wanted to... uh... say hi or whatever."

Why did Kurt make him into this loser? Why did he lose his words?

"What are you doing here?"

He spoke so quietly that Puck barely could make out what he said. If he had not been so urgent to hear something from him, a proof of that he was still alive, it might have gone by unnoticed. His voice was small and vacant. It sort of reminded Puck of Brittany, but without that warm confused tone to it. It was pitiful and it made his chest clench painfully.

It was not until this moment that Puck fully understood that when Mr Hummel had told him that his son was "not so good", he really meant it. Sure, Puck had gotten the message and of course he got that Kurt was not feeling well. Seriously, he was not stupid (read: he was not Finn), but he had never quite managed to imagine Kurt this... miserable.

"Finn... he told me you were home and I was just going to check if you were, you know... okay...?"

Someone, just kill him now. He was clearly not making a good impression, because Kurt did not reply again. He simply adjusted his comforter, that small expanse of exposed skin now covered by the sheets and yeah... how did Kurt manage to be more eloquent _without even using words? _While Puck scrambled to get the right words with the right meaning in the very correct order, Kurt got his point across without speaking. _I don't want you here. _

He had never felt more rejected. Not even when Santana dumped him for his stupid credit score, he knew that she would come back to him. The ladies could not stay away too long from the Puckinator. But Kurt? He could not say that he would come back to him, because he never really had him at all, did he? Not that he had ever wanted him, but... Puck did not know what he had expected, but somehow he would have thought that they... bonded or something? Like, when Kurt did not want to talk to those other dweebs in Glee, he could talk to Puck? Even though it sounded totally gay, he sort of... wanted it to be that way. He had _been there, _you know?

"Whatever. I'm out."

He was walking up the stairs before he could blurt out something even more dumbass than he had already done, fists clenched, determined to get the fuck out of there. He might have shut the door with more force than necessary and he might have taken longer steps to reach the front door faster... but then there was a whole lot of Burt Hummel standing in his way and he wore that painful smile which instantly rooted Puck to the spot. He shoved his hands down his pocket so Mr Hummel would not notice how they were trembling.

"You're going already?" the older man asked carefully.

Puck only managed to nod. The look of misery flashing past his aged features made it suddenly even more difficult to speak.

"Did he... did he say something?"

Was he for real? The barely hidden hope in Mr Hummel's eyes made his stomach churn. Had he hoped that Puck would be able to make his son speak to him again?

"He asked what I was doing here", he truthfully spoke, his throat constricted and dry.

"He did? Good, good..."

Mr Hummel had another cup of coffee in his hand now, raising it to his lips before speaking again. The caffeine seemed to be the only thing keeping him running.

"You might have noticed that he's not really himself?"

No kidding.

"Yeah, I thought so", Mr Hummel grunted. "He doesn't speak much, you see. He's been like that since he got home. I... I figure it's the nightmares, you know?"

Puck nodded. What else was he supposed to do?

"He's trying to be strong, as always. Haven't shed a tear."

The pride was audible even through the melancholy and concern.

"I thought he might open up to you. Because you were there. When it happened."

Mr Hummel offered him a tight smile when he put the emptied cup on top of a smaller table cluttered with what looked like important papers and keys. He wrapped his arms around his torso, held on tight... just like Kurt did when close to tears. Puck tried to ignore the threatening lump clinging to the inside of his throat. Mr Hummel was just as disappointed as he was, if not more.

"I'll come back tomorrow."

He had spoken without thinking, just to see surprise and relief cross Mr Hummel's face. He cleared his throat, shifting a bit as if trying to disguise the joy he felt. Puck's lips shifted into a vague smile too.

"Very well, kid. Get going then, before it gets dark."

He received a pat on the back before he was out the door. His shoulders felt lighter when he crossed the street to his truck.

* * *

Yet again, he watched Kurt's tousled hair from across the room, standing on the very last step of the staircase.

"Dude, can I play on your Xbox?"

As he had expected, there was no reply.

"Cool, man, thanks."

He was not giving up this time.

* * *

**Author's notes: By the way – YAY on **_**Letterman jacket**_** reaching over 300 alerts! Thank you, dearest! I hope I live up to your expectations... be sure to tell me what you like/didn't like, what you think is going to happen or what you want to happen in the form of a review. The reviews are what makes me keep going with this!**

**Hugs and kisses, my loved ones**

**Becka**


	10. No 15

**Author's notes: You were supposed to get this earlier and then life happened and it was kind of shitty. Plus, I got both Pre-MS and Post-MS. Post-MS totally exists. Promise.**

**Just to clarify – the numbered paragraphs are the number of times Puck has visited Kurt. I did not want to write "visit no. 03", because it just looked ugly. And YES, that part about Cosmopolitan is an actual article. I totally did my homework on that one.**

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**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****No. 15**

**No. 03  
**"Dude, seriously... How can you _not _have _Super SmashBros Brawl_?"

Only silence met him from across the room.

"It's like... an Xbox without _Super SmashBros Brawl _is like... walking in the snow without shoes. _Fucking stupid." _

Not a sound. Not even a twitch of a muscle or the rustle of sheets. Nothing.

* * *

**No. 08  
**"This makes no sense at all... Who the fuck cares about the French anyway?"

Puck looked up from his spot on the couch to let his eyes fall upon the very still lump hidden beneath the comforter. The half-assed, messily scribbled words across his notebook were supposed to be his essay for History class. Kurt made no move, no effort to answer him, even though Puck really could have used his help. He was one of those smart kids, was he not?

Puck ended up throwing the homework away. Who cared anyway?

* * *

**No. 12  
**"Do you really read this shit?"

Puck had helped himself to some of Kurt's magazines, which had been neatly piled upon a small side table by the couch, which he had pretty much lived upon for the last couple of days. Not that he slept there or whatever, but he... came over at times. Like... a lot, or something. He was waving an issue of _Cosmopolitan _in Kurt's back's general direction.

"'Seven Signs He Wants To Have Sex'..." He read out loud. "Are they for real?"

No answer came from that little huddled up heap in the bed.

"Alright, number one... 'He gets an eye erection'... What the fuck is an eye erection? That's sick, dude. _Sick."_

* * *

He could have avoided her if he did not practically walk right into her. Mercedes dropped her Math book to the floor and yeah, he could be a good guy, so he picked it up for her. Not until she thanked him did he actually look at her.

She was the spitting image of Burt Hummel. Except that she was a girl and well, _black. _She had hair too. Whatever. They had the same tired lines around their eyes, the same sad tilt to the corners of their mouths, as if they would break out in tears at any second, but were to stubborn to give into their urges. Puck could not stand looking at her for too long. She was the only one who had not asked him to come back to Glee.

"Puck..." She started tentatively, her inner diva drained from her tired features. "Finn said that... that you've been visiting him."

No names needed to be used. They both knew who they were talking about. Puck only nodded in reply, a sudden irritation and anger flaring in the pit of his stomach. Stupid Finn and his yapping mouth. His visits to the Hummels place were none of his business.

"I was wondering if you could take me with you next time. Maybe... maybe if you're with me, he'd talk to me."

When she spoke, there was the tiniest of hope behind her eyes. Much like with Mr Hummel, Puck had not prepared any form of resistance to that little spark of hope.

He caved.

"Tomorrow. After school. Meet me in the parking lot."

She lit up like the sun, offered a thankful smile and left him alone in the corridor. Puck could not shake the feeling that he should have told her about how... non-verbal her best friend was.

* * *

**No. 13  
**Surprise, surprise. Kurt laid, unmoved, between his silky sheets. Puck watched him quietly, sprawled out on the couch with his shoes discarded upon the floor. He did that sometimes. Watched him, just to see if he would turn around and ask him what his problem was. Did he not feel that he was staring? Did it not bug the hell out of him? It sure would have bugged the hell out of Puck.

"Aretha is coming with me tomorrow."

Kurt flinched. Puck hid his satisfied smile behind the latest issue of _Cosmo._ It was at least something.

* * *

His mother was almost half-way out the door by the time he got home. She rolled her eyes at the sight of him, ushering him inside as soon as he had stepped out of his car.

"About time!" She said, obviously in a rush considering her flushed cheeks.

"You said seven, didn't you?" Puck inquired while struggling with the laces of his worn Converse in the crowded hall.

"Yes, I did and now it's nearly seven thirty."

"Oh."

"Yes, Noah_, oh."_

She gave him a pointed look and he shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it upon the coat rack while she grabbed hers and pulled it on over her mandatory, gender-neutral uniform. Kurt would hate it.

"Dinner's on the stove, your sister is doing her homework so do not disturb her and I'll be back by four. Alright, darling?"

"Alright."

She stopped with her hand upon the door-handle, gave him one last look. The concern shone through the stress.

"How is he?"

Puck ran his hand over his shaved scalp before shoving his hands down the front pockets of his jeans.

"The same, I guess." He shrugged, feigning indifference, but she knew him better than that. She was not fooled and he knew it. Though, she did not press it. Probably did not have the time.

"Go eat something now, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. Bye, Ma."

"Bye, Noah."

She took a friend's night shift over at some sort of cleaning business from time to time, just so it would not be so tight by the end of the month. At those times, it was his job to be home on time and care for the little scamp. It was usually not so bad. He had somehow managed to force the hair-braiding to a minimum and filled its place with playing video games (_Super Mario_ works for all ages, man). Plus, she always went down like a light around ten, so he could chill out and do cool stuff... like playing _Super Smashbros Brawl_. Though, this night was different.

"Noah?"

It happened sometimes on randomly chosen occasions. It was the nights she thought so much she could not sleep. At those times, she would stick her head of unruly, dark chocolate brown hair through his door and gently call out his name.

"'Sup, twerp?" He always greeted her, even though he already knew the answer.

"I can't sleep."

"Yeah? What am I supposed to do about that?"

The result was always the same. Two seconds later and she was buried beneath his sheets, closing her petite fists around his shirt and letting his calm heartbeat lull her to sleep. And yeah, Puck might stroke her hair until she was so far gone a bomb would not wake her, but he would never admit to it.

* * *

**No. 14  
**Mercedes was already waiting by the Studmobile by the time he walked into the parking lot. She was holding a book bag close to her chest and the corners of her mouth twisted slightly upwards at the sight of him.

"You've got a car?"

Screw greetings. He had a bad feeling about this and wanted to get it over with. She nodded with determination, smile wiped off of her features.

"Cool. See you there."

He walked around her without a second glance, yanked open the door and did not look forward to the seventeen and a half minutes of _thinking _he had ahead of him. Something deep down told him that this was a fucked up idea and that he was stupid to agree to it. The same voice echoed in his head during the entire drive – not even blasting hardcore Jewish rock through his aged stereo could shut it out, not with Mercedes' car constantly in the rear view mirror.

He parked on his usual spot on the other side of the street and had barely made it out of the truck before she was by his side. She was still clutching her book bag hard to her chest. Puck thought he ought to tell her to be ready or something, but he did not want to freak her out more. It looked like if he even made the slightest effort to squeeze her shoulder in comfort or whatever, she'd slap him by sheer reflex. Unnecessary pain was not something he was very fond of.

The door was unlocked. Puck stepped right in, ignoring his company's curious eyes digging into the back of his neck. He caught a glimpse of Mr H in the kitchen, reading some sort of fishing magazine.

"Hi, Mr H."

"Puckerman," Mr H replied automatically, throwing a quick glance over his son's most common visitor. His eyes widened slightly by the sight of Mercedes. He had not seen her for a while. "Hi there, Mercedes."

"Hello, Mr Hummel," she answered him, making an effort to smile, but failing miserably. Had she paled too? She did look pretty pale.

Puck met Mr H's questioning glance with a shrug, because yeah, what was he supposed to say? They both knew that nothing good would come out of this, both Puck and Mr H, but it might be worth a try? Right? Right.

"You know where to find him", Mr H finally said and they were dismissed.

His eyes adjusted easily to the darkness in the basement by then. Mercedes squinted and hesitated on the last step. He kind of understood her. It was pretty creepy down there. He was used to it, though, so it was not that big of a deal anymore. Still, she stood very immovable and he sort of figured that they would get nowhere if they did not _move. _Even Finn got that. With an exaggerated head bob towards the heap in the bed, he tried to urge her forward. She shook her head slightly, adjusting her grip on the book bag. Chicken.

"Hummel! Mercedes is here."

That sure got her moving, because she really did not have any other choice. Puck watched her when she walked over to the bed, tentatively sitting down upon the mattress.

"I... I brought the latest issue of _Vogue Italia_..."

He figured that was his cue to pretend that he did not care about what they were doing. He sat down upon the couch, schooling his features into indifference, while his head was slightly more tilted towards them than completely necessary. What? He was curious. Not about the boots Mercedes was informing her best friend about, but if the guy would acknowledge her at all.

* * *

It was sort of painful to hear the awkward attempts of conversation. With every reply which never came, Puck found it more difficult to focus on the video game before him, because he really just wanted to tell him to get a grip and not upset her. Because she was getting upset, you had to be an idiot not to notice. And Kurt was not an idiot. Except for maybe now.

"Would you please leave?"

It was spoken so softly he barely caught it above the sound of his soldier getting mashed beneath a tank and the splatter of blood that came with it, but it was there. Puck just caught a glimpse of Mercedes' tear-filled eyes before she went up the stairs in a rush. The door to the basement was slammed shut, just as the front door a couple of seconds later. Kurt laid unmoved beneath his silky sheets. He had just kind of broken his girl's heart and showed absolutely nothing. What the fuck?

Puck had never quite realized that the little knot deep down in his abdomen had been pent up frustration until it was let loose. The anger bubbled up before he had any time to handle it.

"For fuck's sake, Hummel!"

He had at least the decency to flinch. Puck dropped the video game remote upon the couch cushion and got to his feet.

"Aren't you two supposed to be best friends or something?"

No reply. No fucking reply and yeah, he was pretty fired up by then, because there was being hurt and then there was just being really fucking rude. Kurt was the latter.

"You could at least talk to me, you know? You haven't forgotten that I'm the one who found you there, right? I had to watch you die, remember?"

Puck wished that he could forget Kurt's little half-smile the second before he died. He wished he could erase the feeling of his cold skin against his from his memory, but no such luck. He was pretty sure it would be forever imprinted in his mind and it was fucking Kurt Hummel's fault for not watching his own back. And yeah, Puck got it; getting murdered is not exactly on the Top 10 List of Fun Things To Do, but giving the silent treatment to anyone and everyone who cared shit about him was a really idiotic thing to do.

"You got fucking stabbed, Hummel, so stop being such an ice-cold bitch and show some damn emotion, will you?"

The last words were shouted out into the thick air of the basement. Mr H had probably heard him upstairs, but there was no heavy footsteps hurrying down the stairs, not even a concerned call out. The silence was almost as deafening as the loud pounding of his heart. Kurt stirred. Puck's chest heaved heavily with every ragged breath.

"You want to talk?"

Kurt's voice was hoarse and quiet – rusty from being unused for such a long time – when he spoke, but still managed to contain all the venom he wanted Puck to feel. And yeah, he felt it, like a heavy blow to the chest. The sheets rustled ever so slightly when Kurt sat up, turning towards Puck for the first time since the hospital. Sure, he had been in some sort of drug-induced haze then, but he had smiled and thanked him. He had been _friendly _and _grateful. _There was not a single trace of those emotions left in Kurt's stern face. There was only coldness and anger, all for Puck. He could not even laugh at his tousled hair or the ridiculous shirt he wore – all sense of joy and victory he could possibly have felt for making him talk drained from his body immediately, like a Dementor sucking out his soul. All that was left was the frustration.

"Fine. I'll talk." Kurt continued acidly, settling himself with his slender frame angled towards him and in that moment, he was every bit of the better-than-you ice queen Puck was used to. His back was straightened, his shoulders pushed backwards and his chin angled in a defiant tilt.

"I got stabbed. Some Neanderthal decided that I don't have the right to live, so he put a knife in me."

His fingers were clenching the flimsy fabric of his shirt, desperately keeping the hemline down. Puck was pretty sure he knew what he did not want him to see.

"A _knife. _I can't sleep, because if I close my eyes, it happens to me again. I can _feel _it go through my skin and I can _feel _him twist it."

Mr H had mentioned the nightmares. The dark bags beneath Kurt's eyes were the proof of their existence. Puck could only imagine how Mr H woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of his son screaming his lungs out.

"Is that what you want to hear? It's all I'm able to think about. I'm trying so hard to keep it inside, to keep those freakingemotions under control, because I fear that if I let go, if I _cry_, I will never be able to stop!"

Kurt's chest was heaving now, much like Puck's own. The last word seemed to echo between them – louder than the others, vibrating with all of those feelings he spoke of keeping bottled up. The thick silence between them strangled whatever retort Puck would be able to come up with.

"Is that enough talking for you? Do _you _feel better now?" Kurt said, his voice merely above a whisper now, but still managed to drip of so much disdain and disgust that Puck felt like he had been given a bitch slap. "Then get the hell out of here, because no one asked you to come."

They glared at each other for an unknown amount of time – both intent on not being the one backing down. Though, it did not matter. Kurt won either way, if it ever was a competition. He was the first one to turn his back on him, laying down beneath his comforter once again and Puck knew he was supposed to leave.

It was a storm off he was pretty sure Rachel Berry would be proud of – all down to the stomping up the stairs and the slamming of doors. He was mad. Why he was mad? Because Hummel was right. No one had asked him to be there. No one had forced him to go there, to spend every fucking afternoon with that stuck up little twat. He really had no right to complain and it was pissing him off! Almost every trashcan in the Hummels' neighborhood got to feel a piece of his wrath, because yeah, no way in hell he was getting into the Studmobile in this state. He was responsible like that.

Fucking Hummel and his reasonable head. Puck was not helping. Why the fuck had he even bothered? He should have taken the hint that first night he came to visit. Nothing had improved since that time, had it? He had just been a fucking pain in the ass for Kurt, and not even that kind of pain in the ass he probably enjoyed. He aimed a particularly hard kick towards a mailbox and yeah, someone had screwed that one tighter than he had thought.

"Fuck!"

Now his foot was throbbing too. Just great! Just fan-_fucking_-tastic! He slumped down in a defeated lump upon the curb, ignoring the weird looks he got from the occasional passers-by. One lady even grabbed her kid and walked over to the opposite sidewalk. Ignorant asshats. He was in _pain, _alright?

Pain. Yeah, it had been a lot of that lately. Admitting it did not make him a pussy. It didn't! It was just a fact. And Kurt felt it too. Like, _a lot. _More than he first would have thought. But this hurt pretty bad too, okay? This helpless feeling of being utterly useless. He could not _help _Kurt, no matter how bad Mr H wanted his visits to work. No matter how bad _he _wanted it to work. Puck had no clue of how to help with uncontrolled tear canals and nightmares, or...! He got up so fast he got dizzy, the first steps stumbling on weak knees. He knew what he had to do.

* * *

**No. 15  
**It was late. Puck had never really noticed when it had darkened outside, but he was glad to find that the light was still on in the living room of the Hummel residence. The door was locked now and once it had been awkward to ring the doorbell, but not this time. He knew what he had to do and everything would be awesome after that. He was sure of it. If Mr H would let him in, that is, because when he opened the door he did not exactly look pleased. More like surprised and a bit suspicious.

"Puckerman? It's late."

"Can I see him?"

The look he received then told him very clearly that Mr H had heard the entire conversation earlier. It was not a good look.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

Dads... seriously, it was as if they were allergic to him. He nodded impatiently, glancing over Mr H's shoulder in the general direction of the basement. The older man tilted his chin upwards in a jut which was identical with the one his son did when he was less than happy about something. Nevertheless, he took a step to the side and Puck noticed an in when he saw one.

"Thanks, Mr H."

"Don't make me regret it, Puckerman!" He called after him, but Puck was already down the stairs, door shut behind him, heart pounding in his ears.

Kurt laid where he always did, illuminated by that single lamp lit upon the nightstand. Puck struggled with his shoe laces, kicked his shoes off upon the white carpet and threw his jacket on the couch when he passed it. Kurt was staring into the wall, as if ignoring his existence would make him go away. Not this time. It took him a couple of seconds to figure out how exactly to turn the lights of, because very much like everything else in Kurt's life, that lamp was complicated, but he understood it eventually. The darkness was so thick he could barely make out the contours of the body beneath the sheets, though he did not really need to see him by then. The mattress creaked ever so slightly when he sat down upon the edge and he pretended not to notice how every single one of Kurt's muscles stiffened when he did so.

Kurt voiced no complaints.

Puck eased himself down upon the bed, above the comforter, his head hitting the pillow.

Not a word.

He rolled over on his side and if he had been able to see through the pitch black darkness, he would probably have been staring straight into a tousled mop of brown hair by then. He knew for a fact that his heavy breaths hit the back of Kurt's neck. He could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Not even a question sprang from the other boy's mouth. Nothing.

Puck wet his lips, reaching out a hesitant hand. The mere touch of his fingertips across his side were enough for Kurt to jolt into action.

"Don't..." He whimpered, voice light and vulnerable through the heavy silence, and Puck's heart broke.

He did not obey him. He let his palm lay flat against his stomach, fingers spread on top of his shirt. He could feel the unevenness upon his otherwise blemish free skin through the fabric, even though he was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Just sleep, okay?" He murmured to the back of his neck, to the tightly wound shoulders.

For a while, the only sound audible within the basement was Kurt's shuddering breathing – shallow and weak. He did not say a word, just laid very still. Puck was not sure of how much time actually had passed by the time he could feel his muscles let go of the tension. Kurt's shoulders slumped, meeting Puck's chest and his arm fell more easily around him. He fought a small smile.

Then it happened. An aching sob ripped through their bodies, the silence and the darkness. Kurt covered his mouth with his hand, desperately trying to stifle it, trying to blink away the oncoming tears, but it was too late. His entire being shook and shuddered in Puck's arms while he cried, pressing into the embrace, willingly seeking the comfort he offered. He cried until there were no tears left to cry and no other option than to close his eyes from exhaustion. Shy snores replaced the sobs when the early morning sun searched its way through the narrow windows near the ceiling. Puck smiled tiredly into his skin and fell asleep too.

* * *

**A/N: Please tell me what you thought of this chapter! There was a whole lot of emotions there and I would love to hear what you thought of it.**


	11. Relief

**Author's notes: **

_Dear readers and reviewers,  
__First of all, I love you! I know that I have said several times that you are the reason to why I keep writing this and to some extent, you are, but I have come to the conclusion that I first and foremost write for myself. Or, at least I ought to. The inability to write for myself might be the reason to why I've kept you waiting for so long; I constantly worry about if what I write is good enough for you and if it will match the quality level of the past chapters. I don't want to disappoint you, but for the sake of my own sanity, I'm now going to stop apologizing for delayed updates and so called short chapters. Many of you reviewers make a point of complaining about the length of the chapters, which really makes me uncomfortable and doesn't speed up the process. In fact, it has the opposite effect, since I try to force words out of me to please you. It not only affects the quality of the chapter, but also my mood and my self-esteem. __**Therefore, I would like to ask of you to simply **__**not**__** mention the length of the chapters in your review if you're unhappy with it. **__Thank you._

_Lots of love,  
__Becka_

_ps. If you don't get the Grey's Anatomy reference, here's a video: _http : / www . youtube . com / watch? v=9G6 _ c8jvcjk

* * *

**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Relief**

The first thing his mind registered was warmth. Almost too hot for comfort – the feeling of golden rays of sun seeping through the windows and heating up his skin through layers of clothes and sheets. Short strands of hair tickled his nose. There was something, some_one_ soft and pliant in his arms; delicate fingers resting across his bare forearm, an abdomen moving in calm breaths beneath his palm. It was _cozy _and _comfortable _and he really did not want to wake up right now.

No such luck.

It started out as a poke. A gentle one. He could ignore it. A content sigh escaped his parted lips as he buried his nose further into hair that smelled like... fruit punch, or whatever, it smelled awesome and he could sniff it all day long.

Another poke and what the fuck? He was trying to sleep! Someone obviously did not care about him getting his eight hours of sleep (thanks for that tip, _Cosmo_!) and it was seriously starting to bug him. Seriously (so what if he had popped in some episodes of _Grey's Anatomy?_ That shit was totally cool!). Puck tightened his hold around that soft body in sheer protest.

He should not have done that. It was not a good idea at all because next thing he knew, there was a frigging _shove. _

"Puckerman! Stop fondling my son and get your ass up for school."

Yeah. That was plenty enough to wake him up and lose all desire of sleep. Suddenly very much awake, Puck dared a glance up towards the large shadow covering him. As he had suspected, Burt Hummel loomed over him and he did _not _look overjoyed about what he had walked in on. Not that anything had actually happened, but how could he know that?

"Th-this this is not what it looks like, I swear!"

He attempted to disentangle himself from limbs and sheets, but immediately froze when Kurt stirred in his sleep. Puck held his breath, afraid that the ruckus he had created might have disturbed the other boy. Dude had not slept for like a month, he deserved some damn respect when he finally had passed out - Puck was considerate like that. Though, Kurt only sighed and gripped the pillow he was cuddling tighter. Puck exhaled in relief, but the calm was brief. Mr H had crossed his arms over his chest.

"Mr H, believe me, we just _slept together!" _he hissed in an agitated whisper.

"Slept together, huh?"

"YES! I mean, _no, _jeez, not like _that! _We did nothing but sleep, I promise!"

Mr H tried to keep a scowl on his face while he eyed him up, like he was trying to get him to pee in his pants by mere fear, but amusement inevitably won out. Might have something to do with the absolutely terrified look upon Puck's face. Mr H shook his head, ran a hand over his scalp and turned towards the stairs again.

"I expect you to be up in five," he called over his shoulder. "Breakfast is ready."

Not until he heard the sound of the door closing did he allow himself to slump down on the mattress again, sighing heavily. Kurt was still snoring in this kind of ridiculously sort of cute way which totally would make girls coo all over him, completely oblivious to all the suffering Puck was going through. Seriously - no fucking end to the hardships in his life!

"This is all your fault, you know?" he muttered to the sleeping form next to him and okay, he was not really mad. How could he be? Kurt looked like one of those fat, naked babies with wings (that showed up everywhere during Valentine's) while he was sleeping. Except that he was neither fat nor naked, just... looking like a baby and who could be mad at a baby? It was impossible!

"Suppose I better get up there, before your dad thinks I'm locking lips with you or something..."

* * *

What was that smell? He knew that smell... Was that...? Oh god yes, it was! Mr H looked up from his seat by the kitchen table, coffee cup in hand, when he heard Puck's approaching footsteps. Puck hesitated in the door opening.

"Waffles?" Mr H said and pushed the plate of deliciousness across the wooden table.

He had not gotten waffles for breakfast for an eternity. Ma was always in a hurry in the morning and he had not really mastered the glorious art of waffle making just yet. Puck sunk down into a free seat, glancing at the other set of plates and silver ware next to him. Mr H had set the table for three.

* * *

First thing he felt was relief. He had fallen asleep. His head felt heavy with slumber for the first time in several weeks. Prior to this morning, he had not been aware of how much one could miss that feeling of drowsiness which only a good shower and a strong cup of coffee could cure.

With a low groan, he burrowed further into the soft pillow. He did not want to wake up just yet. What if it had been a one time event? What if he would not be able to fall asleep again? Kurt inhaled deeply, his nostrils filling with the scent of detergent and... was that _Old Spice? _His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why on earth did his sheets smell like sweat and _Old Spice? _Why did it smell like... like _boy? _He took another sniff. The scent was vaguely familiar and reminded him of the locker room after football practice; salty skin, shabby gym bags and shoes with a smell which could eliminate a smaller nation. Though, this particular scent was not entirely unpleasant. The most disturbing detail about it was that he could not for his life figure out how it had gotten ingrained in his sheets and...

The memory hit him with the gentleness of a train with failing breaks. _Puck. _His sheets smelled of Puck, because he had spent the night in his bed. Kurt was torn between blushing all the way down to his thighs or to pale in mortification. This would without doubt change things. He could not even begin to fathom the damage last night had made.

* * *

"Dude... these are some mean waffles."

Mr H chuckled from the other side of his newspaper, throwing Puck a glance from over the sports section.

"Yeah, they're pretty decent", he agreed. "All luck, though. I'm just glad I didn't set anything on fire like that last time."

Puck could feel a grin spreading across his face when he sloppily chewed on another bite of the crusty awesomeness. It seemed as if Mr H did not totally hate him for slipping into bed with his son. That was good.

"Just wait 'til you get a taste of Kurt's waffles. He puts the Waffle House to shame."

"Really?"

"He makes them thinner, you know?"

"So they melt on your tongue?" Puck replied, nodding knowingly.

"Exactly. Then he whips up this creamy stuff with something lemony in it and tops it with berries and chocolate chips."

Puck felt his jaw go slack when picturing the description Mr H gave him. The older man sighed, something distant in his eyes, as if looking back on fond memories.

"Though, he only makes it for my birthday nowadays. Apparently, is not very good for your health."

He rolled his eyes in a dramatic gesture before getting back to his paper and man, Puck really felt his pain.

"Is there any chance he'll make an exception for this b-day rule? It's like ten months 'til mine."

"That you'll have to ask him yourself, kid."

And Mr H did not laugh and there was no amusement in his voice, because the dude totally got that waffles were no laughing matter.

* * *

Kurt rubbed irritably at his cheeks which were stiff and salty from dried tears. He had sworn to himself not to let Puck get to him. He had known that something like this (minus the _cuddling, _he really had not seen that one coming) had been bound to happen, that Puck somehow would rub him (not in _that _way) the wrong way and the result... Kurt wrapped the comforter tighter around himself in a feeble attempt of shielding what had already been displayed. He had been doing so well until that fumbling idiot just waltzed in acting as if he cared, as if he _wanted _to be there and...

"Hey, you're up!"

Kurt jumped visibly at the sudden sound of a cheery voice coming from the stairs. Puck stood perched upon the last step, wearing the goofiest grin Kurt had ever seen on him and holding a plate of waffles in his hand. At the sight of Kurt's paling face, Puck's grin faded around the edges.

"You okay there?"

As Puck stepped down from the stairs and crossed the basement, Kurt sat up and scooted up so he could lean against the headboard. Puck put the stack of waffles upon the nightstand before unceremoniously slumping down upon the mattress.

"I brought breakfast. Reckoned you'd be hungry."

_After that dreadful sobfest, _Kurt filled in as he pulled a hand through his unruly hair in hopes of managing some damage control.

"I thought you would have left by now."

The words slipped from his lips before he had a chance to stop them. He averted his eyes so he did not have to meet Puck's curious gaze which saw straight through every barrier and wall. There was a moment of absolute silence, in which Kurt resolutely stared at his hands locked together in his lap while Puck shifted slightly. The mattress creaked.

"Dude, if it were up to me, I'd totally still be sleeping, but your dad isn't really into this whole 'too cool for school' concept I've got going on. But he made me waffles, so he's forgiven."

And that was not the reply he had been expecting. There was no mention of last night, no teasing comment or rude impersonation... The vulnerable void within Kurt's chest did not ache as much once he met Puck's knowing eyes again. There was a silent promise made, an '_I won't tell'_ spoken solely with a quirk of Puck's right eyebrow. Relief returned, replacing fear. Some of the tension escaped Kurt's shoulders.

"I better get going before your dad throws me out," Puck informed him, getting to his feet in a languid motion. "Eat your waffles, Hummel, they're delicious."

He took his leather jacket from where he had left it on the couch and pulled it over his taut frame before he stepped into his black boots. Kurt felt his stomach churn with the need to giggle over the absurdity of the situation. He had shared a bed with this boy, with the King Jock of McKinley who dressed in _leather_ and actually managed to pull it off.

"See you later."

Puck was halfway up the stairs when Kurt found his voice again.

"Puck?"

The boy in question halted and looked expectantly upon him. He had meant to say some sort of goodbye, anything remotely polite, maybe even thank him for bringing breakfast, but all that came out was a question he had not meant to ask out loud.

"Why do you even bother with me?"

His voice betrayed all of his worries, everything he had managed to keep behind bars. Though, if Puck noticed, he did not mention it. A grin tugged at his lips when he replied.

"Cause you're my boy."

And, as simple as that, he gave Kurt a short nod and resumed up the stairs. Kurt sat very still, staring at the place where Puck had stood as he heard the front door close. He made a feeble attempt to stifle the smile which invaded his otherwise indifferent features and reached out for a waffle.


	12. Reconciliation

**Author's note****s:**

_Dear readers and reviewers,_

_First of all, I would like to thank you for your continuing support even though I have kept you waiting for this chapter for over three months (or is it four now?). Thanks to you, _Letterman Jacket _has reached over 400 reviews. You can not even begin to fathom how much this means to me and how much your kind words have helped me work through my writer's block. I try to reply to all of your reviews, but it has been hard to keep track on them since I have spent large amounts of my summer break in a place without Internet. If I have yet to reply to your review, I will get to it as soon as possible._

_ I would also like to thank all of you who congratulated me on my graduation. As some of you already know, my break from writing gave me the reward of best grades in my school and I have now been accepted to the University of Gothenburg. It is not Hogwarts, but it will do._

_ Now, I will let you read the next chapter of _Letterman Jacket _and I hope dearly that it still keeps you interested. Please feel free to leave a review if you feel so inclined._

_Lots of love, _

_Becka_

* * *

**LETTERMAN JACKET  
****Reconciliation**

Puck was halfway to school when he came to the realization that his ma did not have a clue of where he was. He cursed under his breath as he with much wriggling managed to fish his cellphone out of his jeans pocket. Indeed, the screen flashed with multiple texts, voicemails and missed calls. Figuring that he could not deal with her angry concern this early in the morning and that she probably was at work already anyway, he opted on sending her a text instead of calling once he had reached the parking lot outside McKinley's.

_slept kurt's place, in school now_

He just barely made it out of the car before the phone in his hand started to vibrate vigorously. He rolled his eyes before pressing the device to his ear.

"Hey, ma."

_"Noah, why didn't you answer my calls last night? I was worried out of my mind!"_

"I fell asleep, alright?" He said while giving a few dweebs an intimidating glare.

They held the door open for him when he walked into school and he could not help the new spring in his step, even though he had his grumpy ma on the other end. He had made Kurt feel better. He was just that awesome. The crowd parted for him when he walked through the corridor and made a beeline for his locker, even though he seriously considered not attending his first class for the day. He had not even showed up for Math _before _everything, so why would he change that habit?

_"And that was alright with Mr Hummel?"_

"Yeah, of course it was!" It was not exactly true, but whatever. "Look, he made me breakfast, sent me off to school on time and everything, ma. It was no biggie, I promise."

The other end was awfully quiet as he opened his locker and pretended to look through his books as the bell rang for the first time and people started moving around him.

"Ma, you still with me?"

_"Yes, yes, of course, I was just... thinking, Noah."_

"'bout what?"

She sighed in that way that told him that she already knew that he was not going to like what she had to say and it made him put his defense on immediately. He had not even noticed how the corridor was completely cleared of people.

_"The Hummels have had a rough couple of weeks," _she said slowly. _"And maybe... I know that you like being over there, but maybe... maybe you should give them some space? Just for a little while, until they get their lives back on track."_

It took a moment for the words to actually sink in: a moment in which he stood very still, trying desperately to comprehend what his mother was saying while his heart sped up with the sudden realisation, with the sudden annoyance washing over him. He felt anger and he knew that it logically was uncalled for, but he could not help the rage which swelled within.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he hissed through gritted teeth as he slammed his locker shut and threw his back against it.

_"Noah, I just..."_

"No, you don't _just _anything! If you don't like having me over there, say so instead of giving me that _bullshit!"_

_ "Mind your language!"_

"No, I won't mind my fucking language, alright? Kurt _likes _having me around, ma. We're like friends or something."

And alright, he might have bended the truth a bit, but it was not a complete lie. They were friends... sort of. Maybe. In a way. A totally weird way, but there was definitely some sort of friendship there alright. At least he thought so...

"Puck?"

Puck spun around, startled at the sound of Mr Schue's voice. He had not heard him coming around the corner, which his wide eyes must have indicated, since the Spanish teacher gave him an apologetic smile.

"Can I get a sec?"

The excuse to hang up on his ma was more than welcomed and Puck nodded in reply while pressing the cellphone to his ear again.

"Sorry, ma, Mr Schuester needs me."

_"Noah, wait...!"_

Click. His stomach gave an oddly satisfying churn at the thought of his probably very much annoyed mother. She deserved it for giving him that fucked up mumbojumbo shit. He shoved his cellphone into his jeans pocket and turned to Schue.

"Yeah?"

"Lets head into my office, okay?" Schue said with that overenthusiastic grin of his.

Though, there was something else there too, hiding beneath rows of sparkly white teeth and the slight wrinkles around his eyes. Something cautionary and careful and Puck did not like it one bit, but he could not really wuss out now when he had agreed to walk along and everything.

Schue motioned him into his office, told him to close the door and then gestured for him to sit down. Schue did not sit down. Instead he leaned against his desk, that smile in place as he locked his hands together in his lap and spoke.

"How are you, Puck?" He asked.

"Uh, fine, I guess..." He shrugged in reply, slumped down in his seat.

"Good, glad to hear it, I... And Kurt? I've heard that you've kept in touch with him. How is he doing?"

Puck shifted slightly, suddenly reminded of the surprising anger he had felt towards his mother only minutes ago. Why did everyone feel the need to meddle with this... this _thing _he and Kurt had? It was none of their damn business.

"Better, I suppose," he then answered warily, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Great! That's great, Puck."

Schue just kept on smiling and Puck felt uneasy where he sat. He could not quite shake the feeling that something else was going on here.

"Yeah... great," he agreed slowly. "'s that all? I've got class and..."

"Actually, there's one more thing."

Puck, who had been halfway out of his seat, sank back with a light sigh and forced the impolite 'what?' threatening to spill from his lips back down his throat. Schue cleared his throat slightly. His fingers were fidgeting nervously against his pant leg.

"As you might know, Regionals is in a couple of weeks and... I'm not going to lie to you, Puck. We need you. Glee Club needs you_ and_ your voice. Since... It's not been the same since you guys left. So, on behalf of the entire club... Would you please consider coming back to us?"

It took a couple of seconds before Puck could truly comprehend what Schue said. He immediately felt an onslaught of words he really should not say, of emotions he did not quite want to label, but he kept his mouth shut. There were a thousand of things that he would have liked to say in that moment, but only one word left him.

"No."

He only caught a glimmer of the disappointment which flooded Schue's face before he walked out of his office.

* * *

He does not talk much all day. He attended English and US History and successfully dodged Finn's attempt at conversation, because Schue's words were still so fresh in his mind and he really wanted to hit something and he would have preferred if it was not Finn's face. He spent lunch at the bleachers, alone, enjoying the silence and then sat there past two pm, because he sort of doubted that Mr H would let him in if it was not after school hours. Sure, he had bought it a couple of weeks ago, but he figured that things were different now. A lot of things were different, he added and his mind easily conjured the picture of Kurt sitting up in his bed, the hint of a smile upon his pale face and then Puck can not help but quirk the corners of his mouth too.

* * *

It was a bit after three pm when Puck walked up the driveway to the Hummels' house. The door was open, as per usual nowadays and Puck stepped in. He dumped his bag next to his shoes on the floor and peeked curiously into the living room from where he heard the sounds from the TV and a soft tune he could not quite place.

"Puckerman!" Mr H exclaimed loudly. "You hungry, kiddo?"

For a total amount of six seconds, Puck did not know what to say. Mr H stood in the kitchen, with re-runs of _Deadliest Catch_ on the television, wearing a frilly apron and smiling as bright as the sun. Puck was not sure of if he was supposed to laugh or not. He finally managed a;

"Yeah. Sure," and quickly realized that the tune he had heard was Mr H _whistling. _"You're in a good mood," he stated and leaned against the door frame.

Mr H merely grinned and nodded.

"Kurt's hungry," he simply said and between the two of them, that was the only explanation needed.

"Whatcha making?"

"Uhm... some sort of soup I found in one of his cookbooks... Healthy food, you know."

Mr H shrugged and gestured to the book that had been flipped open upon the counter top. Puck stepped forward and eyed the page skeptically. His gaze drifted from the colorful picture to Mr H's soup and a grimace briefly fluttered across his face.

"Dude... I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to look like that."

Mr H came up beside him and peeked into the pot. Puck was rewarded with a rather dark look.

"Yeah, so I'm not America's next superchef. Sue me," he replied gruffly and shot his chin out defiantly and yeah, Puck totally got who Kurt had gotten that look from.

Puck raised his hands in submission, but could not help grinning.

"Hey, never said you were... I'm just not sure that Kurt's gonna eat it, that's all."

"I think I liked you better when you weren't such a cheeky brat," Mr H snorted, but there was a smile hiding just beneath the surface and Puck smiled too when he reached out for the cookbook.

"Let's see if we can save this sh-... thing."

* * *

It was well after four once Puck balanced a bowl of soup and a glass of water down the stairs to Kurt's room and the liquid in the bowl at least had some sort of resemblance to the end result he had seen in the cookbook. And it did not taste awful. Puck knew that, since he had tried it himself and it was totally edible. Okay, maybe it was not meant for mass-consumption, but it would probably work this one time.

Kurt sat up in his bed when he first caught sight of him. He was holding up his shirt with his left hand, gaze lowered to the fingers spread across his abdomen, framing the scar. Puck was still pretty far away and could only make out the contours of it before Kurt noticed his presence and swiftly pulled down his shirt again. His cheeks heated up rapidly. Puck decided to play it cool and pretend like nothing had happen as he swaggered towards the bed, where Kurt was still adjusting his comforter to cover even more of him.

"Hey, dude. Your dad said you were hungry," he greeted him and placed the bowl upon the empty, leftover plate from that morning's waffles.

Kurt nodded briefly, slightly trembling fingers stroking a few stray strands of hair from his forehead.

"Yes," he replied quietly. "Thank you."

Puck put the water next to the bowl and shoved his hands down the pockets of his jeans, shifting slightly where he stood.

"Soo... Your dad tried his best to make one of the recipes from one of your cookbooks, but I'm not sure it went that great... It's edible, though. I promise."

Something which reminded Puck of guilt fluttered across Kurt's features as he took the bowl in his hands and laid his eyes upon the content of it.

"Yes, I... I'm usually the one cooking," Kurt shared softly, picking up the spoon to stir the soup.

Puck had always made himself comfortable in Kurt's room, even though Kurt had not wanted him there. He had never felt uneasy with slumping down on his couch, putting his feet upon the coffee table or stealing a pillow to take a nap. Though, things felt different now. Now when Kurt was like... _awake. _

"Can... Can I sit down?"

There was a mild surprise visible in Kurt's eyes as he looked up upon Puck and Puck felt surprised as well, because since when had he ever been polite? Kurt nodded slowly and made a vague gesture with the spoon towards the edge of the bed. Puck offered him a brief smile and sat down, hands splayed upon the sheets behind him. His eyes followed the spoon as Kurt brought it to his lips, blew on the substance and carefully took it into his mouth. His adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed and he cleared his throat.

"It's edible," he agreed and met Puck's eyes.

Silence fell between them and Puck fumbled with a loose thread from his t-shirt while waiting for the right words to emerge. It had always been so easy to talk to Kurt when he had his back against him. Now it was seemingly more difficult. Though, suddenly they were there, on the tip of his tongue, spilling out.

"Schue asked me to come back to Glee Club today."

There was a second in which he thought that Kurt was going to spill the entire content of the bowl upon him. The spoon clattered dangerously against the porcelain, but Kurt's wide eyes were turned towards him.

"You quit?" he asked, shock heavily interlaced in his tone and Puck felt self-conscious where he sat, reaching up to scratch at the mohawk that was not there.

"Yeah..." he admitted. "Didn't I tell you that?"

Kurt shook his head.

"No, you did not. When... why?"

He looked so bewildered, as if he did not have a clue and honestly? Puck was not sure of how he was going to explain this either. He felt his eyes wander away from Kurt's questioning gaze.

"Uhm... The day after, you know... I came to school, which I probably shouldn't have, but I had forgotten my bag and shit and... Yeah, so I went to the choir room and... They were just going to sing. You know, like that would help solve things or whatever."

Kurt did not say anything for quite some time and neither did Puck. The only sound audible was Kurt's quiet breathing and the sound of his spoon against the bowl. Puck did not look at him, but he could feel his questioning eyes upon him nonetheless.

"Do you miss it?" he finally said.

Puck replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders, because he had not really thought about it before. He did not miss anything with school. He was not even sure that he missed hanging out with his buds.

"I do," Kurt then said and there was a soft sadness to his tone, the longing audible in his voice and there was something else there too, something Puck could not quite identify. "Not necessarily the lessons, since Mr Schue clearly is incapable of any form of creative lesson plan, but... I miss the feeling. I didn't have..." He faltered and rearranged his words, but Puck is still pretty sure of what he was supposed to say. "I miss Me-... my friends."

And Puck only nodded, because what else could he do? Kurt was finished with talking, he could tell from his sudden change in body language and the way he purposefully brought a spoonful of soup to his lips.

* * *

There was an awkward silence by the dinner table in the Puckerman residence that night. Puck went to bed early, because he was not the one to apologize.

* * *

Mercedes glared at him and Puck kind of thought that such a reaction was a bit too harsh.

"Puck", she said. "Why would I do that?"

She shut her locker with more force than was necessary, pulling her bag over her shoulder as she turned to walk down the hall. Puck immediately hurried to her side.

"Aretha, just _listen, _alright?"

She swirled around so quickly that he almost walked straight into her. He came to an abrupt halt in the corridor as her arm shot up and a sassy finger flew through the air as she spoke.

"First of all, pretty boy, I've got a name and I expect you to use it."

"Mercedes..." he corrected himself sullenly.

"And secondly, _why _would I go back there when he made it perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with me? With _any _of us?"

"Because he's your friend, maybe? Like, your best friend or something?"

"He didn't even _look _at me."

"Yeah, well, he's sort of been through a pretty rough time, okay? I thought that maybe his BFF or whatever you call yourselves would understand that."

And that successfully shuts her up, just like he had thought, because guilt always works.

"Look," he continued, all business. "If you come by today after school, just to talk with him for a while, I... I'll come back to Glee Club."

Mercedes looked rather dumbfounded for a second as she stood and merely stared at him. Then she seemed to realize what she was doing and promptly shoved her hand forwards. She shook his firmly when he took hers.

"Deal," she said with a confirming nod and a small smile while her shoulders slumped a bit. "But just so you know... I would've done it without the bargaining."

And with that, she let go of his hand and turned on her heel to walk to her first class.

* * *

The second time he walked down the stairs to Kurt's basement with Mercedes in tow, he felt way more confident. Kurt sat up in his bed, slowly flipping through a magazine.

"Hey, Hummel!" Puck called out and Kurt sort of jumped, but did not flinch or recoil, so it was progress. Puck grinned. "You've got a visitor."

It was rather comical to see Kurt's eyes widen with surprise when his best friend came down the stairs, backpack on her shoulder and wearing a careful smile. Kurt's gaze flickered between the two of them before it completely settled upon Mercedes.

"Hi," she said with an awkward wave.

"Hello," he replied with an equally awkward smile - hesitant and barely there.

Puck decided not to meddle. He was just going to sit there on Kurt's couch, minding his own business, and play some _Mario._ So he turned on the television and the gaming console, grabbing the remote and collapsed upon the comfortable couch, pretending that he did not listen to every word and every silence uttered between the two. He could see her move from the corner of his eye, towards the bed until she finally sank down next to Kurt. She kept her distance and judging by the immediate relaxation in Kurt's shoulders, he was grateful.

"Uhm... The other day," Kurt started tentatively and shifted slightly once the _Mario_ soundtrack started playing.

"Yes?" She replied just as quietly.

For a short period of time, there was a deafening silence and Puck thought that everything would be going to hell once more. Then Kurt spoke.

"You mentioned _Vogue Italia?"_

Another brief silence, surprise in the air. Puck held his breath. Then Mercedes let out a small huff of laughter and started rummaging around her backpack.

"Yeah, I did," she said and handed over the magazine.

Kurt took it with delicate fingers, but there was nothing delicate about his smile. It was bright, uninhibited and absolutely contagious. Mercedes laughed again and Puck chanced a glance over his shoulder. Meeting Kurt's piercing not quite blue, but not grey or green either, eyes sent a jolt of excitement through him and when he mouthed a tiny 'thank you' across the room, Puck forced himself to turn back to _Mario_, because the grin he sported was sort of ridiculously huge.


	13. A request

Hi, you guys!

Long time no see, eh? (goes to hide under a rock in shame) First of all I would like to thank all of you who keeps reading, reviewing, following and favorite this story, even almost three years after its latest update. You guys are amazing and I love you all.

I have a request (yeah, I know, pretty shitty after being silent for three years). You see, I think I've changed (and hopefully developed!) as a writer during the time that Letterman Jacket has been resting. It still remains my most popular work of fanfiction of all time and I would really like to finish it. However, I have a hard time starting up from where I left off, soo… I've started rewriting the whole thing.

I'm six chapters in and I could really use some help. I need a beta and someone I can pass ideas back and forth with, to force my way out of my frequent writer's blocks. In other words, a tough-love kind of cheerleader!

If anyone is interested in helping me finish this story, please don't hesitate to send me a review on this chapter or a PM – just get in touch however you prefer! ;)

Thanks again and lots of love,

Becka

**EDIT: Thank you for all your offers, you guys are the best! I've got two beta readers now, so hopefully the Letterman Jacket remake will be up soon ;)**


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